r 


PICTURESQUE 

i 

POCKET    COMPANION, 

AND 

VISITOR'S   GUIDE, 

THROUGH 

MOUNT    AUBURN 

ILLUSTRATED   WITH  UPWARDS  OF 

SIXTY    ENGRAVINGS    ON    WOOD, 


Yes,  lightly,  softly,  move  ! 
There  is  a  power,  a  presence,  in  the  woods  ; 
A  viewless  being,  that,  with  life  and  love, 
Informs  these  reverential  solitudes. 


BOSTON: 
OTIS,  BROADERS  AND   COMPANY. 

MDCQQXJiXIX. 


^1'\ 


rt^f^ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1839; 

By  Otis,  Broaders  &  Co. 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


•71^1.60  J 


Henry   L.   Devereux,   Printer, 
4  Water  Street Boston. 


HISTORY  OF  MOUNT  AUBURN. 


The  celebrity  attained  by  Mount  Auburn,  pronounced 
by  Em-opean  travellers  the  most  beautiful  Cemetery 
in  existence,  and  which,  perhaps,  without  assuming  too 
much,  may  be  called  the  Phe  la  Chaise  of  America, — the 
extraordinaiy  natural  loveliness  of  the  spot, — the  admi- 
rable character  of  the  establishment  which  is  there 
maintained, — the  fact  that  this  was  the  first  conspicuous 
example  of  the  kind  in  our  country, — these,  with  many 
others  we  might  mention,  are  considerations  strongly 
in  favor  of  putting  on  record  a  more  accurate  and 
complete  history  of  its  origin  and  progress  than  has  yet 
been  given  to  the  public.  Nor  need  we  suppose  that 
such  an  account  will  concern  only  the  numerous  class 
of  individuals,  chiefly  belonging  to  our  own  vicinity, 
whose  interest  in  this  Cemetery  is  yet  of  the  deepest 
and  most  delicate  character, — that  which  kindred  feel 
in  the  dust  and  monuments  of  kindi*ed,  and  in  the 
ground,  whatever  and  wherever  it  may  be,  in  whose 
bosom  they  expect  their  own  remains  may  repose,  when 
the  great  debt  of  nature  shall  be  paid. 


4  HISTORY    OF 

A  feeling  of  less  immediate  and  intimate  application 
than  this,  but  of  the  same  kind,  has  evidently  been  for 
some  years  increasing  and  extending  throughout  the 
American  community.  In  no  small  degree  it  is  proba- 
bly a  result  of  the  formation  of  the  establishment  at 
Mount  Auburn  itself  Something  more  and  better  than 
the  mere  love  of  novelty,  or  the  ordinary  admiration  of 
w^hat  is  admirable,  is  certainly  at  its  foundation.  It 
shows  itself  in  w^orks  that  speak  louder  than  any  lan- 
guage. Our  Cemetery  has  become,  within  the  few 
years  of  its  existence,  a  model  for  all  similar  institutions 
in  the  United  States,  and  more  of  these  have  been 
founded  within  the  last  half  dozen  years,  than  during 
the  whole  two  centuries  that  preceded  them.  At  this 
moment,  associations  in  several  of  our  principal  cities 
and  towns  are  engaged  in  such  undertakings.  It  is 
well  known  that  applications  are  continually  made  from 
these  parties,  for  information  relating  to  Mount  Auburn. 
The  multitudes  of  foreigners  and  other  strangers,  who 
frequent  the  northern  metropolis  during  the  travelling 
season,  experience  the  same  want.  For  them  there  is 
no  resort  of  recreation  (using  that  word  in  its  just  phi- 
losophical sense)  in  Boston  or  its  vicinity,  equally 
satisfactory  with  this  "  pleasant  though  mournful"  spot. 
Nothing  more  perhaps  is  needed  to  complete  their 
enjoyment  of  it,  than  a  better  knowledge  than  can  at 
present  be  easily  obtained,  of  the  causes  and  sources 
to  which  they  are  indebted  for  the  pleasure  it  gives 
them,  of  the  principles  upon  which  the  establishment 
is  conducted,  and  of  the  means  by  which  its  yet  unri- 
valled perfections  may  be  emulated  in  every  section  of 
the  land. 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  5 

In  drawing  up  this  account,  which  we  propose  to 
render  as  practically  useful  as  may  be,  we  have  sought 
to  fortify  our  authenticity  by  references  to  original  and 
official  documents,  for  the  introduction  of  which  we 
are  confident  the  reader  will  require  of  us  no  apology 
beyond  what  is  implied  in  this  explanation.  The  sub- 
ject is  not  of  a  character  to  excite  the  meditative  mind 
for  the  moment  to  a  mood  of  matter-of-fact  enquiiy, 
but  it  is  certain,  on  the  other  hand,  that  a  sentimental 
histoiy — if  such  a  thing  might  be — is  not  what  is 
wantec^ 

The  considerations  of  a  general  nature  which  first 
led  tO  the  adoption  of  measures  for  the  foundation  of 
the  establishment  at  Mount  Auburn,  are  such  as  are 
already  familiar,  we  must  presume,  to  such  of  our  readers 
as  have  reflected  on  the  subject  at  all.  In  the  address 
delivered  at  its  consecration  by  Mr.  Justice  Stoiy,  they 
are  expressed  with  equal  force  and  beauty ;  as  also  in 
the  Reports  of  Committees  of  the  Massachusetts  Horti- 
cultural Society,  published  in  1831,  and  written  by  some 
of  our  most  distinguished  citizens.  These  papers  will  be 
incorporated  in  this  history,  or  added  to  it,  in  due  course  ; 
meanwhile  it  is  proper  to  remark  that  not  only  senti- 
ments and  reflections  similar  to  those  which  these 
publications  express  had  long  been  entertained  by  many 
members  of  this  community,  but  certain  incipient  steps 
towards  the  putting  of  such  designs  in  execution  had 
been  taken,  some  years,  at  least,  prior  to  the  actual 
result  now  well  known  to  the  public. 

The  earliest  meeting  on  the  subject  of  the  Cemetery, 
so  far  as  we  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  was  held  in 
November,  1825,  at  the  house  and  by  the  instance  of 


6  HISTORY    OF 

our  respected  fellow-citizen,  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow,  on 
which  occasion  were  present  with  himself  Messrs.  John 
Lowell,  George  Bond,  William  Sturgis,  Thomas  W. 
Ward,  Samuel  P.  Gardiner,  John  Tappan  and  Nathan 
Hale.  The  design  of  a  Cemetery  somewhere  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  city  met  with  unanimous  approval,  and 
Messrs.  Bond  and  Tappan  were  appointed  a  Com- 
mittee to  make  enquiries,  and  report  a  suitable  piece  of 
ground  for  the  purpose.  The  Committee  were  unsuc- 
cessful in  their  enquiries,  and  never  reported,  nor  was 
the  subject  ever  actively  revived  in  any  way  by  these 
immediate  parties. 

The  next  movement  was  in  1830,  when  Dr.  Bigelow, 
having  obtained  from  George  W.  Brimmer,  Esq.,  the 
offer  of  "  Sweet  Auburn,"  for  a  Public  Cemetery,  at  the 
price  of  six  thousand  dollars,  communicated  the  fact  to 
the  officers  of  the  Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society, 
and  engaged  their  co-operation  as  private  individuals  in 
a  great  effijrt  to  accomplish  the  object  in  view.  A  meet- 
ing of  members  of  that  Society  was  held  on  the  twenty- 
third  of  November,  by  invitation  of  Messrs.  Bigelow 
and  John  C.  Gray,  to  discuss  the  plan  of  a  Cemetery 
to  be  connected  with  an  "Experimental  Garden"  of 
the  Society.  A  Committee  of  the  Society  was  now 
appointed,  consisting  of  Messrs.  H.  A.  S.  Dearborn, 
Jacob  Bigelow,  Edward  Everett,  G.  Bond,  J.  C.  Gray, 
Abbott  Lawrence,  and  George  W.  Brimmer.  These 
gentlemen  called  a  more  general  meeting  on  the 
eighth  of  June,  1831,  "  to  consider  the  details  of  a  plan 
now  about  to  be  carried  into  execution,"  &c.  On  this 
occasion  the  attendance  was  large.  Mr.  Justice  Story 
took  the  chair,  and  the  Hon.  E.  Everett  acted  as  Secre- 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  7 

tary.  Great  interest  and  entire  unanimity  were  express- 
ed in  regard  to  the  design  of  the  meeting.  It  was  now 
voted  to  purchase  Sweet  Auburn,  provided  one  hundred 
subscribers  could  be  obtained,  at  sixty  dollars  each; 
also  to  appoint  a  Committee  of  twenty  to  report  on  a 
general  plan  of  proceedings  proper  to  be  adopted 
towards  effecting  the  objects  of  the  meeting ;  and  the  fol- 
lowing gentlemen  were  chosen : — Messrs.  Joseph  Story, 
Daniel  Webster,  H.  A.  S.  Dearborn,  Charles  Lowell, 
Samuel  Appleton,  Jacob  Bigelow,  Edward  Everett, 
George  W.  Brimmer,  George  Bond,  A.  H.  Everett, 
Abbott  Lawrence,  James  T.  Austin,  Franklin  Dexter, 
Joseph  P.  Bradlee,  Charles  Tappan,  Charles  P.  Curtis, 
Zebedee  Cook,  Jr.,  John  Pierpont,  L.  M.  Sargent  and 
George  W.  Pratt,  Esquires. 

An  elaborate  Report,  on  the  general  objects  of  the 
meeting,  was  on  this  occasion  offered  by  the  previously 
appointed  Committee.* 

Another  meeting  was  held  on  the  11th  of  June,  at 
which  the  Committee  of  twenty  reported — 

1.  That  it  is  expedient  to  purchase,  for  a  Garden  and 
Cemetery,  a  tract  of  land,  commonly  known  by  the 
name  of  Sweet  Auburn,  near  the  road  leading  from 
Cambridge  to  Watertown,  containing  about  seventy- 
two  acres,  for  the  sum  of  six  thousand  dollars :  provided 
this  sum  can  be  raised  in  the  manner  proposed  in  the 
second  article  of  this  report. 

2.  That  a  subscription  be  opened  for  lots  of  ground 
in  the  said  tract,  containing  not  less  than  two  hundred 
square  feet  each,  at  the  price  of  sixty  dollars  for  each 

*  See  Appendix  to  this  History,  No.  I. 


8  History  of 

lot,  the  subscription  not  to  be  binding  until  one  hundred 
lots  are  subscribed  for. 

3.  That  when  a  hundred  or  more  lots  are  taken,  the 
right  of  choice  shall  be  disposed  of  at  an  auction,  of 
which  seasonable  notice  shall  be  given  to  the  sub- 
scribers. 

4.  That  those  subscribers,  who  do  not  offer  a  pre- 
mium for  the  right  of  choosing,  shall  have  their  lots 
assigned  to  them  by  lot. 

5.  That  the  fee  of  the  land  shall  be  vested  in  the 
Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society,  but  that  the  use  of 
the  lots,  agreeably  to  an  Act  of  the  Legislature,  respect- 
ing the  same,  shall  be  secured  to  the  subscribers,  their 
heirs  and  assigns,  forever. 

6.  That  the  land  devoted  to  the  purpose  of  a  Ceme- 
tery shall  contain  not  less  than  forty  acres. 

7.  That  eveiy  subscriber,  upon  paying  for  his  lot, 
shall  become  a  member,  for  life,  of  the  Massachusetts 
Horticultural  Society,  without  being  subject  to  assess- 
ments. 

8.  That  a  Garden  and  Cemetery  Committee  of  nine 
persons  shall  be  chosen  annually,  first  by  the  subscribers, 
and  afterwards  by  the  Horticultural  Society,  whose  duty 
it  shall  be  to  cause  the  necessary  surveys  and  allotments 
to  be  made,  to  assign  a  suitable  tract  of  land  for  the 
Garden  of  the  Society,  and  to  direct  all  matters  apper- 
taining to  the  regulation  of  the  Garden  and  Cemetery ; 
five  at  least  of  this  Committee  shall  be  persons  having 
rights  in  the  Cemetery. 

9.  That  the  establishment,  including  the  Garden  and 
Cemetery,  be  called  by  a  definite  name,  to  be  supplied 
by  the  Committee. 


MOUNT  AUBURN.  \) 

The  Society  on  this  occasion  Resolved,  "That  the 
Report  of  the  Committee  on  an  Experimental  Garden 
and  Rural  Cemetery  be  accepted,  and  that  said  Com- 
mittee be  authorized  to  proceed  in  the  establishment  of 
a  Garden  and  Cemetery,  in  conformity  to  the  Report 
which  has  this  day  been  made  and  accepted." 

The  following  article,  which  appeared  about  this  time 
in  the  Daily  Advertiser,  (attributed  to  the  pen  of  the 
distinguished  gentleman  who  acted  as  secretary  of 
some  of  the  meetings  above  referred  to)  conveys  so 
complete  an  idea  of  the  reasoning  and  spirit  that 
animated  the  movements  now  described,  in  which  this 
establishment  had  its  beginning,  that,  although  not  an 
official  document  strictly,  it  may  be  considered  indis- 
pensable to  a  satisfactory  account  of  these  proceedings, 
and  we  therefore,  as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  the  style  of 
the  paper  itself,  insert  it  entire  : 

"  The  spot,  which  has  been  selected  for  this  establish- 
ment, has  not  been  chosen  without  great  deliberation, 
and  a  reference  to  every  other  place  in  the  vicinity  of 
Boston,  which  has  been  named  for  the  same  purpose. 
In  fact,  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  proper  place  has  been 
for  several  years  the  chief  obstacle  to  the  execution  of 
this  project.  The  spot  chosen  is  as  near  Boston  as  is 
consistent  with  perfect  secm-ity  from  the  approach  of 
those  establishments,  usually  found  in  the  neighborhood 
of  a  large  town,  but  not  in  harmony  with  the  character 
of  a  place  of  burial.  It  stands  near  a  fine  sweep  in 
Charles  River.  It  presents  every  variety  of  surface, 
rising  in  one  part  into  a  beautiful  elevation,  level  in 
others,  with  intermediate  depressions,  and  a  considera- 
ble part  of  the  whole  covered  with  the  natural  growth 


10  HISTORY    OF 

of  wood.  In  fact,  the  place  has  long  been  noted  for  its 
rural  beauty,  its  romantic  seclusion  and  its  fine  pros- 
pect ;  and  it  is  confidently  believed,  that  there  is  not 
another  to  be  named,  possessing  the  same  union  of 
advantages. 

It  is  proposed  to  set  apart  a  considerable  portion  of 
this  delightful  spot,  for  the  purpose  of  a  burial  place. 
Little  vv^ill  be  required  from  the  hand  of  ait  to  fit  it  for 
that  purpose.  Nature  has  already  done  almost  all  that 
is  required.  Scarcely  any  thing  is  needed  but  a  suitable 
enclosure ;  and  such  walks  as  will  give  access  to  the 
diflferent  parts  of  the  enclosed  space,  and  exhibit  its 
featm-es  to  the  greatest  advantage.  It  is  proposed,  (as 
it  appears  fi'om  the  report  above  cited)  to  divide  the 
parts  of  the  tract,  best  adapted  to  that  purpose,  into 
lots,  containing  two  hundred  or  more  square  feet,  to  be 
used  by  individuals  becoming  proprietors  of  them,  for 
the  purposes  of  burial.  It  will  be  at  the  option  of  those 
interested  to  build  tombs  of  the  usual  construction  on 
these  lots,  or  to  make  graves  in  them,  when  occasion 
may  require  ;  identifying  the  lot  by  a  single  monument, 
or  the  graves  by  separate  stones,  or  leaving  the  whole 
without  any  other  ornament,  than  the  green  turf  and 
the  overshadowing  trees. 

By  the  act  of  the  Legislature,  authorizing  the  Horti- 
cultural Society  to  establish  this  Cemetery,  it  is  placed 
under  the  protection  of  the  Laws,  and  consecrated  to 
the  perpetual  occupancy  of  the  dead.  Being  connected 
with  the  adjacent  experimental  garden,  it  will  be  under 
the  constant  inspection  of  the  Society's  Gardener; 
and  thus  possess  advantages,  in  reference  to  the  care 
and  neatness  with  which  it  will  be  kept,  not  usually 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  11 

found  in  places  of  burial.  A  formal  act  of  dedication 
with  religious  solemnities,  will  impart  to  it  a  character 
of  sanctity ;  and  consecrate  it  to  the  sacred  purposes 
for  which  it  is  destined. 

It  is  a  matter  of  obvious  consideration,  that  with  the 
rapid  increase  of  the  City  of  Boston,  many  years  can- 
not elapse,  before  the  deposit  of  the  dead  within  its 
limits  must  cease.  It  is  already  attended  with  consid- 
erable difficulty  and  is  open  to  serious  objection.  The 
establishment  now  contemplated  presents  an  opportu- 
nity for  all,  who  wish  to  enjoy  it,  of  providing  a  place 
of  burial  for  those,  for  whom  it  is  their  duty  to  make 
such  provision.  The  space  is  ample,  affording  room 
for  as  large  a  number  of  lots  as  may  be  required,  for  a 
considerable  length  of  time ;  and  the  price  at  which 
they  are  now  to  be  purchased,  it  is  believed,  is  consid- 
erably less  than  that  of  tombs,  in  the  usual  places  of 
their  construction. 

Although  no  one,  whose  feelings  and  principles  are 
sound,  can  regard  without  tenderness  and  delicacy  the 
question,  where  he  will  deposit  the  remains  of  those, 
whom  it  is  his  duty  to  follow  to  their  last  home,  yet  it 
may  be  feared,  that  too  little  thought  has  been  had  for 
the  decent  aspect  of  our  places  of  sepulture  or  their 
highest  adaptation  to  their  great  object.  Our  burial 
places  are  in  the  cities  crowded  till  they  are  full,  nor, 
in  general,  does  any  other  object,  either  in  town  or 
country,  appear  to  have  been  had  in  view  in  them, 
than  that  of  confining  the  remains  of  the  departed  to 
the  smallest  portion  of  earth  that  will  hide  them. 
Trees,  whose  inexpressible  beauty  has  been  provided 
by  the  hand  of  the  Creator,  as  the  great  ornament  of 


12  HISTORY    OF 

the  earth,  have  rarely  been  planted  about  our  grave 
yards;  the  enclosures  are  generally  inadequate  and 
neglected,  the  graves  indecently  crowded  together,  and 
often,  after  a  few^  years,  disturbed ;  and  the  vv^hole 
appearance  as  little  calculated  as  possible  to  invite  the 
visits  of  the  seriously  disposed,  to  tranquilize  the 
feelings  of  sui-viving  friends,  and  to  gratify  that  dispo- 
sition w^hich  would  lead  us  to  pay  respect  to  their  ashes. 

Nor  has  it  hitherto  been  in  the  power  even  of  those, 
who  might  be  able  and  willing  to  do  it,  to  remedy  these 
evils,  as  far  as  they  are  themselves  concerned.  Great 
objections  exist  to  a  place  of  sepulture  in  a  private 
field ;  particularly  this,  that  in  a  few  years,  it  is  likely 
to  pass  into  the  hands  of  those  who  will  take  no 
interest  in  presei'viiig  its  sacred  deposit  from  the  plough. 
The  mother  of  Washington  lies  buried  in  a  field,  the 
property  of  a  person  not  related  to  her  family,  and  in  a 
spot  which  cannot  now  be  identified.  In  the  public 
grave  yard  it  is  not  always  in  the  power  of  an  indi- 
vidual, to  appropriate  to  a  single  place  of  burial,  space 
enough  for  the  purposes  of  decent  and  respectful  orna- 
ment. 

The  proposed  establishment  seems  to  furnish  every 
facility  for  gratifying  the  desire,  which  must  rank  among 
the  purest  and  strongest  of  the  human  heart ;  and 
which  would  have  been  much  more  frequently  indi- 
cated, but  for  the  veiy  serious,  and  sometimes  insuper- 
able obstacles  of  which  we  have  spoken.  Here  it  will 
be  in  the  power  of  eveiy  one,  who  may  wish  it,  at  an 
expense  considerably  less  than  that  of  a  common  tomb 
or  a  vault  beneath  a  church,  to  deposit  the  mortal 
remains  of  his  fi-iends ;  and  to  provide  a  place  of  burial 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  13 

for  himself,— which  while  living  he  may  contemplate 
without  dread  or  disgust ;  one  which  is  secure  from  the 
danger  of  being  encroached  upon  as  in  the  grave  yards 
of  the  city ;  secluded  from  every  species  of  uncon- 
genial intrusion ;  surrounded  with  every  thing  that  can 
fill  the  heart  with  tender  and  respectful  emotions: — 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  venerable  tree,  on  the  slope  of 
the  verdant  lawn,  and  within  the  seclusion  of  the 
forest ; — removed  from  all  the  discordant  scenes  of  life. 
Such  were  the  places  of  burial  of  the  ancient  nations. 
In  a  spot  like  this,  were  laid  the  remains  of  the 
patriarchs  of  Israel.  In  the  neighborhood  of  their 
great  cities  the  ancient  Egyptians  established  extensive 
cities  of  the  dead ;  and  the  Greeks  and  Romans  erected 
the  monuments  of  the  departed  by  the  road  side ;  on 
the  approach  to  their  cities,  or  in  pleasant  groves  in 
their  suburbs.  A  part  of  the  Grove  of  Academus,  near 
Athens,  famous  for  the  school  of  Plato,  was  appro- 
priated to  the  sepulchres  of  their  men  of  renown ;  and 
it  was  the  saying  of  Themistocles,  that  the  monuments 
he  beheld  there,  would  not  permit  him  to  sleep.  The 
Appian  Way  was  lined  with  the  monuments  of  the 
heroes  and  sages  of  Rome.  In  modern  times,  the 
Turkish  people  are  eminent  for  that  respectful  care  of 
the  places  of  sepulture,  which  forms  an  interesting  trait 
of  the  oriental  character.  At  the  head  and  foot  of  each 
grave,  a  cypress  tree  is  planted,  so  that  the  grave  yari 
becomes  in  a  few  years,  a  deep  and  shady  grove.  These 
sacred  precincts  are  never  violated ;  they  form  the  most 
beautiful  suburbs  to  the  cities,  and  not  unfrequently 
when  the  city  of  the  living  has  been  swept  away  by  the 
political  vicissitudes,  frequent  under  that  government, 


14  HISTORY    OF 

the  Grove  of  Cypress  remains, — spreading  its  sacred 
shelter  over  the  city  of  the  dead. 

In  the  City  of  Boston,  the  inconveniences  of  the 
present  modes  of  burial  are  severely  felt,  and  it  is  as  a 
becoming  appendage,  an  interesting  ornament  of  the 
tow^n,  that  this  Cemetery  should  be  regarded.  When  it 
shall  be  laid  out,  with  suitable  w^alks  and  the  appropriate 
spots  shall  begin  to  be  adorned  with  the  various  memo- 
rials, which  affection  and  respect  may  erect  to  the 
departed,  what  object  in  or  near  Boston  will  be  equally 
attractive  ?  What  would  sooner  arrest  the  attention  of 
the  stranger ;  whither  would  a  man  of  reflection  and 
serious  temper  sooner  direct  his  steps  ?  Had  such  a 
Cemetery,  with  prophetic  forethought  of  posterity,  been 
laid  out  in  the  first  settlement  of  the  country,  and  all 
oiu-  venerated  dead, — ^the  eminent  in  church  and  state — 
been  deposited  side  by  side,  with  plain  but  enduring 
monuments,  it  would  possess  already  an  interest  of  the 
most  elevated  and  affecting  character.  Such  a  place  of 
deposit  is  Phe  la  Chaise  near  Paris,  which  has  already 
become  a  spot  of  the  greatest  interest  and  attraction, 
furnishing  the  model  to  similar  establishments  in  various 
parts  of  Europe,  and  well  deserving  to  be  had  in  view, 
in  that  which  is  in  contemplation  here. 

The  vicinity  of  our  venerable  University  suggests  an 
interesting  train  of  associations,  connected  with  this 
spot.  It  has  ever  been  the  favorite  resort  of  the  students. 
There  are  hundreds  now  living,  who  have  passed  some 
of  the  happiest  hours  of  the  happiest  period  of  their 
lives,  beneath  the  shade  of  the  trees  in  this  secluded 
forest.  It  will  become  the  place  of  burial  for  the  Uni- 
versity.   Here  will  the  dust  of  the  young  men,  who 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  15 

may  be  cut  off  before  their  academic  course  is  run,  be 
laid  by  their  classmates.  Here  will  be  deposited  those 
who  may  die  in  the  offices  of  instruction  and  govern- 
ment. Nor  is  it  impossible,  that  the  several  class  asso- 
ciations, which  form  a  beautiful  feature  of  our  college 
life,  may  each  appropriate  to  themselves  a  lot,  where 
such  of  their  brethren  as  may  desire  it,  may  be  brought 
back  to  be  deposited  in  the  soil  of  the  spot  where  they 
passed  their  early  years. 

The  establishment  contemplated  will  afford  the  means 
of  paying  a  tribute  of  respect,  by  a  monumental  erec- 
tion, to  the  names  and  memory  of  great  and  good  men, 
whenever  or  wherever  they  have  died.  Its  summit 
may  be  consecrated  to  Washington,  by  a  Cenotaph 
inscribed  with  his  name.  Public  sentiment  will  often 
delight  in  these  tributes  of  respect,  and  the  place  may 
gradually  become  the  honorary  mausoleum  for  the 
distinguished  sons  of  Massachusetts. 

This  design,  though  but  recently  made  public,  has 
been  long  in  contemplation;  and,  as  is  believed,  has 
been  favored  with  unusual  approbation.  It  has  drawn 
forth  much  unsolicited  and  earnest  concurrence.  It 
has  touched  a  chord  of  sympathy,  which  vibrates  in 
every  heart.  Let  us  take  an  affectionate  and  pious  care 
of  our  dead ; — let  us  turn  to  some  good  account,  in 
softening  and  humanizing  the  public  feeling,  that  senti- 
ment of  tenderness  toward  the  departed,  which  is 
natural  and  ineradicable  in  man.  Let  us  employ  some 
of  the  superfluous  wealth  now  often  expended  in  luxury 
worse  than  useless,  in  rendering  the  place  where  our 
beloved  friends  repose,  decent,  attractive,  and  grateful 
at  once  to  the  eye  and  the  heart." 


16 


HISTORY    OF 


In  June,  1831,  the  protection  of  the  Commonwealth 
being  deemed  necessary  to  the  proper  management  of 
the  enterprise  of  the  Horticultural  Society,  the  follow- 
ing Act  was  applied  for  and  obtained : 

Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  thirty-one. 

An  Act,  in  addition  to  an  Act  entitled,  "An  Act 
to  incorporate  the  Massachusetts  Horticultural 
Society." 

Section  I.  Be  it  enacted  by  the  Senate  and  House  of 
Representatives  in  General  CouH  assembled,  and  by  the 
authority  of  the  same,  That  the  Massachusetts  Horticul- 
tural Society  be,  and  hereby  are,  authorized,  in  addition 
to  the  powers  already  conferred  on  them,  to  dedicate 
and  appropriate  any  part  of  the  real  estate  now  owned 
or  hereafter  to  be  purchased  by  them,  as  and  for  a 
Rural  Cemetery  or  Burying  Ground,  and  for  the  erection 
of  Tombs,  Cenotaphs,  or  other  Monuments,  for,  or  in 
memory  of  the  dead ;  and  for  this  purpose,  to  lay  out 
the  same  in  suitable  lots  or  other  subdivisions,  for 
family,  and  other  burying  places ;  and  to  plant  and  em- 
bellish the  same  with  shrubbeiy,  flowers,  trees,  walks, 
and  other  rural  ornaments,  and  to  enclose  and  divide 
the  same  with  proper  walls  and  enclosures,  and  to  make 
and  annex  thereto  other  suitable  appendages  and  con- 
veniences as  the  Society  shall  from  time  to  time  deem 
expedient.  And  whenever  the  said  Society  shall  so  lay 
out  and  appropriate  any  of  their  real  estate  for  a  Ceme- 
tery or  Burying  Ground,  as  aforesaid,  the  same  shall  be 
deemed  a  perpetual  dedication  thereof  for  the  purposes 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  17 

aforesaid;  and  the  real  estate  so  dedicated  shall  be 
forever  held  by  the  said  Society  in  trust  for  such  pur- 
poses, and  for  none  other.  And  the  said  Society,  shall 
have  authority  to  grant  and  convey  to  any  person  or 
persons  the  sole  and  exclusive  right  of  burial,  and  of 
erecting  Tombs,  Cenotaphs,  and  other  Monuments,  in 
any  such  designated  lots  and  subdivisions,  upon  such 
terms  and  conditions,  and  subject  to  such  regulations 
as  the  said  Society  shall  by  their  by-laws  and  regu- 
lations prescribe.  And  every  right  so  granted  and 
conveyed  shall  be  held  for  the  pui-poses  aforesaid,  and 
for  none  other,  as  real  estate,  by  the  proprietor  or  pro- 
prietors thereof,  and  shall  not  be  subject  to  attachment 
or  execution. 

Section  II.  Be  it  fwtker  enacted,  That  for  the  pur- 
poses of  this  Act,  the  said  Society  shall  be,  and  hereby 
are  authorized  to  purchase  and  hold  any  real  estate  not 
exceeding  ten  thousand  dollars  in  value,  in  addition  to 
the  real  estate  vrhich  they  are  now^  by  law^  authorized 
to  purchase  and  hold.  And  to  enable  the  said  Society 
more  effectually  to  carry  the  plan  aforesaid  into  effect, 
and  to  provide  funds  for  the  same,  the  said  Society 
shall  be,  and  hereby  are  authorized  to  open  subscription 
books,  upon  such  terms,  conditions,  and  regulations  as 
the  said  Society  shall  prescribe,  w^hich  shall  be  deemed 
fundamental  and  perpetual  articles  betv^een  the  said 
Society  and  the  subscribers.  And  every  person,  who 
shall  become  a  subscriber  in  conformity  thereto,  shall 
be  deemed  a  member  for  life  of  the  said  Society 
without  the  payment  of  any  other  assessment  whatso- 
ever, and  shall  moreover  be  entitled,  in  fee  simple,  to 
the  sole  and  exclusive  right  of  using,  as  a  place  of 


18  HISTORY  OF 

burial,  and  of  erecting  Tombs,  Cenotaphs,  and  other 
Monuments  in  such  lot  or  subdivision  of  such  Ceme- 
tery or  Burying  Ground,  as  shall  in  conformity  to  such 
fundamental  articles  be  assigned  to  him. 

Section  HI.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  the  President 
of  the  said  Society  shall  have  authority  to  call  any 
special  meeting  or  meetings  of  the  said  Society  at  such  . 
time  and  place  as  he  shall  direct,  for  the  purpose  of 
cariying  into  effect  any  or  all  the  purposes  of  this  Act, 
or  any  oth^r  pui-poses  w^ithin  the  pui*view  or  the 
original  Act  to  w^hich  this  Act  is  in  addition. 

Li  House  of  Representatives,  June  22d,  1831.    Passed 
to  be  enacted. 

WILLIAM  B.  CALHOUN,  Speaker. 

In  Senate,  June  23d,  1831.     Passed  to  be  enacted. 

LEVERETT  SALTONSTALL,  President. 

June  23d,  1831.        Approved. 

LEVI  LINCOLN. 
A  true  Copy.        Attest, 

EDWARD  D.  BANGS, 

Secretaiy  of  the  Commonwealth. 


At  a  meeting  of  subscribers  called  August  3d,  1831, 
it  appeared  that  the  subscription  had  become  obligatory, 
according  to  the  program  above  stated,  by  the  taking 
of  a  hundred  lots.  In  fact,  the  paper  was  filled  up  to  a 
much  greater  extent  than  was  either  required  or 
expected,  as  may  be  seen  by  reference  to  the  original 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  19 

document  ;*  a  result  which,  it  may  be  proper  to  say, 
was  in  a  very  considerable  degree  owing  to  the  zealous 
efforts  of  one  individual,  the  late  Mr.  Josiah  P.  Bradlee, 
who  engaged  in  this  enterprise  with  his  characteristic 
spirit.  Nor  is  it  but  just  to  add  that  he  was  most  effi- 
ciently aided  by  others.  The  following  gentlemen  were 
now  chosen  to  constitute  a  "  Garden  and  Cemetery 
Committee  :"  Messrs.  Joseph  Story,  H.  A.  S.  Dearborn, 
Jacob  Bigelow,  E.  Everett,  G.  W.  Brimmer,  George 
Bond,  Charles  Wells,  Benjamin  A.  Gould,  and  George 
W.  Pratt.  At  the  same  time,  arrangements  Were  made 
for  a  public  religious  consecration,  to  be  held  on  the 
Society's  grounds. 

At  a  meeting,  August  8th,  a  sub-committee  was 
appointed  to  procure  an  accurate  topographical  survey 
of  Mount  Auburn,  and  report  a  plan  for  laying  it  out 
into  lots.  This  service  was  performed  subsequently  by 
Mr.  Alexander  Wadsworth,  Civil  Engineer. 

The  consecration  of  the  Cemetery  took  place  on 
Saturday,  September  24th,  1831.  A  temporaiy  amphi- 
theatre was  fitted  up  with  seats,  in  one  of  the  deep 
vallies  of  the  wood,  having  a  platform  for  the  speakers 
erected  at  the  bottom.  An  audience  of  nearly  two 
thousand  persons  were  seated  among  the  trees,  adding 
a  scene  of  picturesque  beauty  to  the  impressive  solem- 
nity of  the  occasion.  The  order  of  performances  was 
as  follows : — 

*  See  Appendix,  No.  II. 


30  HISTORY     OF 

1.  Instrumental  Music,  by  the  Boston  Band. 

2.  Introductory  Prayer,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Ware. 

3.  HYMN, 
Written  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pierpont. 

To  thee,  O  God,  in  humble  trust, 

Our  hearts  their  cheerful  incense  burn, 

For  this  thy  word,  "  Thou  art  of  dust, 
And  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return." 

For,  what  were  life,  life's  work  all  done, 
The  hopes,  joys,  loves,  that  cling  to  clay. 

All,  all  departed,  one  by  one. 

And  yet  life's  load  borne  on  for  aye  ! 

Decay  !  Decay  !  'tis  stamped  on  all  ! 

All  bloom,  in  flower  and  flesh,  shall  fade ; 
Ye  whispering  trees,  when  we  shall  fall. 

Be  our  long  sleep  beneath  your  shade  ! 

Here  to  thy  bosom,  mother  Earth, 

Take  back,  in  peace,  what  thou  hast  given  ', 

And  all  that  is  of  heavenly  birth, 
O  God,  in  peace,  recall  to  Heaven  ! 

4.  ADDRESS, 

By  THE  Hon.  Joseph  Story. 

5.  Concluding  Prayer,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pierpont. 

6.  Music  by  the  Band. 


MOUNT     AUBURN.  21 

A  cloudless  sun  and  an  atmosphere  purified  by  show- 
ers, combined  to  make  the  day  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful we  ever  experience  at  this  season  of  the  year. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  address  by  Judge 
Story  was  pertinent  to  the  occasion,  for,  if  the  name 
of  the  orator  were  not  sufficient,  the  perfect  silence  of 
the  multitude,  enabling  him  to  be  heard  with  distinct- 
ness at  the  most  distant  part  of  the  beautiful  amphi- 
theatre in  which  the  services  were  performed,  would 
be  sufficient  testimony  as  to  its  worth  and  beauty.  Nor 
is  it  in  the  pen's  power  to  furnish  any  adequate  descrip- 
tion of  the  effect  produced  by  the  music  of  the  thousand 
voices  which  joined  in  the  hymn,  as  it  swelled  in  chas- 
tened melody  from  the  bottom  of  the  glen,  and,  like 
the  spirit  of  devotion,  found  an  echo  in  every  heart, 
and  pei-vaded  the  whole  scene. 


Some  account  of  Mount  Auburn  itself,  as  it  existed 
at  this  stage  of  its  history,  may  with  propriety  be  here 
introduced.  The  tract  of  land  which  bears  this  name, 
is  situated  on  the  Southerly  side  of  the  main  road  lead- 
ing from  Cambridge  to  Watertown,  partly  within  the 
limits  of  both  those  towns,  and  distant  about  four  miles 
fi'om  Boston.  Formerly  it  was  known  by  the  name  of 
Stone's  Woods,  the  title  to  most  of  the  land  having 
remained  in  the  family  of  Stones  from  an  early  period 
after  the  settlement  of  the  country.  Mr.  Brimmer 
made  purchase  of  the  hill  and  part  of  the  woodlands 
within  a  few  years,  chiefly  with  the  view  of  preventing 
the  destruction  of  the  trees,  and  to  his  disinterested 
love  of  the  beautiful  in  nature,  may  be  attributed  the 
preservation  of  this  lovely  spot.  The  fii'st  purchase  of 
2* 


22  HISTORY     OF 

the  Society  included  between  seventy  and  eighty  acres, 
extending  from  the  road  nearly  to  the  banks  of  Charles 
River.  The  Experimental  Garden  commenced  by  the 
Association  vras  to  have  been  upon  that  portion  of  the 
ground  next  to  the  road,  and  separated  from  the  Ceme- 
tery by  a  long  water-course,  running  between  this  tract 
and  the  interior  wood-land.  The  latter  is  covered, 
throughout  most  of  its  extent,  with  a  vigorous  growth  of 
forest  trees,  many  of  them  of  large  size,  and  comprising 
an  unusual  variety  of  kinds.  This  tract  is  beautifully 
undulating  in  its  sm-face,  containing  a  number  of  bold 
eminences,  steep  acclivities,  and  deep  shadowy  vallies. 
A  remarkable  natural  ridge  with  a  level  sm-face  runs 
through  the  ground  from  south-east  to  north-west,  and 
has  for  many  years  been  known  as  a  secluded  and  favor- 
ite walk.  The  principal  eminence,  called  Mount  Auburn 
in  the  plan,  is  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  above  the 
level  of  Charles  Kiver,  and  commands  from  its  summit 
one  of  the  finest  prospects  which  can  be  obtained  in  the 
environs  of  Boston.  On  one  side  is  the  city  in  full 
view,  connected  at  its  extremities  with  Charlestown  and 
Roxbury.  The  serpentine  course  of  Charles  River, 
with  the  cultivated  hills  and  fields  rising  beyond  it,  and 
having  the  Blue  Hills  of  Milton  in  the  distance,  occu- 
pies another  portion  of  the  landscape.  The  village  of 
Cambridge,  with  the  venerable  edifices  of  Hai*vard 
University,  are  situated  about  a  mile  to  the  east- ward. 
On  the  north,  at  a  veiy  small  distance,  Fresh  Pond 
appears,  a  handsome  sheet  of  water,  finely  diversified 
by  its  woody  and  irregular  shores.  Country  seats  and 
cottages  seen  in  various  directions,  and  those  on  the 
elevated  land  at  Watertown,  especially,  add  much  to 
the  picturesque  effect  of  the  scene. 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  23 

The  grounds  of  the  Cemetery  were  laid  out  with 
intersecting  avenues,  so  as  to  render  every  part  of  the 
wood  accessihle.  These  avenues  are  curved  and  vari- 
ously winding  in  their  course,  so  as  to  be  adapted  to 
the  natural  inequalities  of  the  surface.  By  this  arrange- 
ment the  greatest  economy  of  the  land  is  produced, 
combining  at  the  same  time  the  picturesque  effect  of 
landscape  gardening.  Over  the  more  level  portions, 
the  avenues  are  made  twenty  feet  wide,  and  are  suitable 
for  carriage-roads.  The  more  broken  and  precipitous 
parts  are  approached  by  foot-paths,  which  are  six  feet 
in  width.  These  passage-ways  are  smoothly  gravelled, 
and  planted  on  both  sides  with  flowers  and  ornamental 
shrubs.  Lots  of  ground,  (containing  each  three  hundred 
square  feet)  are  set  off  as  family  burial-places,  at  suita- 
ble distances  on  the  sides  of  the  avenues  and  paths.* 

The  nature  of  the  privileges  now  granted  to  the 
purchasers  of  these  lots  by  the  proprietors,  may  be 
learned  by  reference  to  the  form  of  conveyance  em- 
ployed.f  We  have  inserted  also  the  names  of  the  hills, 
foot-paths  and  avenues,  which  it  was  found  convenient 
to  adopt.|  These  were  laid  out  by  a  Committee,  of 
which  General  Dearborn  was  Chairman.  The  Egyptian 
gateway,  which  forms  the  chief  entrance  to  the  grounds, 
was  designed  by  Dr.  Bigelow. 

The  first  choice  of  lots  was  offered  for  sale,  by  auction, 
Nov.  28th,  1831 ;  the  first  two  hundred  being  then  made 
purchasable  to  subscribers  on  the  following  conditions : 

*  The  substance  of  this  description  will  be  found  in  the 
Appendix  to  Judge  Story's  Address. 

t  See  Appendix,  No.  III.  t  Appendix,  No.  IV. 


(^ 


UNlVi 


24  blSTORY    OF 

1.  Each  lot  contains  three  hundred  square  feet, 
exchisive  of  ground  necessary  to  fence  the  same,  for 
which  sixty  dollars  are  to  be  paid. 

2.  In  addition  to  said  sum  of  sixty  dollars,  the  sum 
bid  for  the  right  of  selection  is  to  be  paid,  and  the 
bidder  is  to  decide  on  the  lot  he  will  take  at  the 
moment  of  sale. 

3.  If  any  subscriber  be  not  satisfied  with  the  lot  sold 
or  assigned  to  him,  he  may  at  any  time  within  six 
months  exchange  the  same  for  any  other  among  the 
lots  already  laid  out,  if  any  such  remain  unappro- 
priated. 

4.  If  any  subscriber  shall  wish  to  enlarge  his  lot,  the 
Garden  and  Cemetery  Committee  may,  if  they  see  no 
objection,  set  off  to  him  land  for  that  purpose,  on  his 
paying  for  the  same  at  the  rate  of  twenty  cents  per 
square  foot. 

5.  A  receiving  tomb  is  provided  in  the  City,  and  one 
will  be  constructed  at  Mount  Auburn,  in  which,  if 
desired,  bodies  may  be  deposited  for  a  term  not  exceed- 
ing six  months. 

At  this  sale,  the  one  hundred  and  fifty-seven  lots 
previously  subscribed  for,  were  assigned,  at  sixty  dollars 
each.  The  amount  bid  for  the  right  of  selection  at  the 
same  time,  (from  twelve  dollars  to  one  hundred  dol- 
lars, each  lot,)  was  $957,50. 

Mount  Auburn,  it  is  generally  well  known,  is  now 
the  property  of  a  separate  and  distinct  corporation, 
havmg  no  connection  with  the  Horticultural  Society. 
This  transfer  was  eflfected  in  1835,  and  the  following 
Act  was  that  year  obtained  fi-om  the  Legislature  of 
the  Commonwealth,  for  the  incorporation  of  the  pro- 
prietors by  themselves : 


mount  auburn.  25 

Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts. 
In  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  thirty  five. 

An  act  to  incorporate  the  Proprietors  of  the  Ceme- 
teiy  of  Mount  Auburn. 

Section  1.  Be  it  enacted  by  the  Senate  and  House 
of  Representatives,  in  General  Court  assemhled,  and  by 
the  authority  of  the  same,  That  Joseph  Story,  John 
Davis,  Jacob  Bigelow^,  Isaac  Parker,  George  Bond,  and 
Charles  P.  Curtis,  together  vy^ith  such  other  persons  as 
are  Proprietors  of  Lots  in  the  Cemetery  at  Mount 
Auburn,  in  the  tovrns  of  Cambridge  and  Watertown, 
in  the  County  of  Middlesex,  and  who  shall  in  w^riting 
signify  their  assent  to  this  Act,  their  successors  and 
assigns  be,  and  they  hereby  are  created  a  Corporation, 
by  the  name  of  the  Proprietors  of  the  Cemetery  of 
Mount  Auburn,  and  they  shall  have  all  the  powers  and 
privileges  contained  in  the  statute  of  the  year  One 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty  three.  Chapter  eighty- 
three. 

Section  2.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  the  said  Cor- 
poration may  take  and  hold  in  fee  simple  the  Garden 
and  Cemetery  at  Mount  Auburn,  now  held  by  the 
Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society,  and  any  other 
lands  adjacent  thereto,  not  exceeding  fifty  acres  in 
addition  to  said  Garden  and  Cemetery,  upon  the  same 
trusts  and  for  the  same  purposes  and  with  the  same 
powers  and  privileges  as  the  said  Massachusetts  Horti- 
cultural Society  now  hold  the  same  by  virtue  of  the 
statute  of  the  j^ear  One  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
thirty-one.  Chapter  sixty-nine ;  and  may  also  take  and 


26  HISTORY    OF 

hold  any  personal  estate  not  exceeding  in  value  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  to  be  applied  to  purposes  connected 
with  and  appropriate  to  the  objects  of  said  establish- 
ment. 

Section  3.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  all  persons 
who  shall  hereafter  become  Proprietors  of  Lots  in  said 
Cemetery,  of  a  size  not  less,  each,  than  three  hundred 
square  feet,  shall  thereby  become  members  of  the  said 
Corporation. 

Section  4.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  the  Officers  of 
the  said  Corporation  shall  consist  of  not  less  than  seven 
nor  more  than  twelve  Trustees,  a  Treasurer,  Secretary, 
and  such  other  Officers  as  they  may  direct.  The  Trus- 
tees shall  be  elected  annually  at  the  annual  meeting, 
and  shall  hold  their  offices  until  others  are  chosen.  And 
they  shall  choose  one  of  their  number  to  be  President, 
who  shall  be  also  President  of  the  Corporation,  and 
they  shall  also  choose  the  Secretary  and  Treasurer, 
either  fi-om  their  own  body  or  at  lai'ge.  And  the  said 
Trustees  shall  have  the  general  management,  superin- 
tendence and  care  of  the  property,  expenditures,  busi- 
ness and  prudential  concerns  of  the  Corporation,  and 
of  the  sales  of  lots  in  the  said  Cemetery,  and  they  shall 
make  a  report  of  their  doings  to  the  Corporation  at 
their  annual  meeting.  The  Treasurer  shall  give  bonds 
for  the  faithful  discharge  of  the  duties  of  his  office,  and 
shall  have  the  superintendence  and  management  of  the 
fiscal  concerns  of  the  Corporation,  subject  to  the  revi- 
sion and  control  of  the  Trustees,  to  whom  he  shall 
make  an  Annual  Report,  which  shall  be  laid  before  the 
Corporation  at  their  annual  meeting.  And  the  Secre- 
tai*y  shall  be  under  oath  for  the  faithful  performance 


^• 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  27 

of  the  duties  of  his  office,  and  shall  record  the  doings 
at  all  meetings  of  the  Corporation  and  of  the  Trustees. 

Section  5.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  the  annual 
meetings  of  said  Corporation  shall  be  holden  at  such 
time  and  place  as  the  By-laws  shall  direct,  and  the 
Secretary  shall  give  notice  thereof  in  one  or  more 
newspapers,  printed  in  Boston,  seven  days  at  least  before 
the  time  of  meeting.  And  special  meetings  may  be 
called  by  the  Trustees  in  the  same  manner  unless 
otherwise  directed  by  the  By-laws ;  or  by  the  Secre- 
tary, in  the  same  manner,  upon  the  written  request  of 
twenty  members  of  the  Corporation.  At  all  meetings, 
a  quoram  for  business  shall  consist  of  not  less  than 
seven  members ;  and  any  business  may  be  transacted, 
of  which  notice  shall  be  given  in  the  advertisements 
for  the  meeting,  and  all  questions  shall  be  decided  by  a 
majority  of  the  members  present,  and  voting  either  in 
person  or  by  proxy. 

Section  6.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  as  soon  as  the 
said  Corporation  shall  have  received  fi'om  the  Massa- 
chusetts Horticultural  Society  a  legal  conveyance  of 
the  said  Garden  and  Cemetery  at  Mount  Auburn,  the 
Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society  shall  cease  to  have 
any  rights,  powers  and  authorities  over  the  same ;  and 
all  the  rights,  powers  and  authorities,  trusts,  immunities 
and  privileges  conferred  upon  the  said  Society,  and 
upon  the  Proprietors  of  Lots  in  the  said  Cemeteiy  in 
and  by  virtue  of  the  first  section  of  the  statute  of  the 
year  One  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty-one.  Chap- 
ter sixty-nine,  shall  be  transferred  to  and  exercised  by 
the  Corporation  created  by  this  Act,  and  the  same 
shall  to  all  intents  and  purposes  apply  to  the  said  Cor- 


28  HISTORY     OF 

poration,  and  all  Proprietors  of  Lots  in  the  said  Ceme- 
tery, with  the  same  force  and  effect  as  if  the  same  were 
herein  specially  enacted,  and  the  said  Corporation 
substituted  for  the  Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society 
hereby. 

Section  7.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  any  person 
who  shall  wilfully  destroy,  mutilate,  deface,  injure  or 
remove  any  tomb,  monument,  grave-stone  or  other 
structure  placed  in  the  Cemetery  aforesaid,  or  any  fence, 
railing  or  other  work  for  the  protection  or  ornament  of 
any  tomb,  monument,  grave-stone  or  other  structure 
aforesaid,  or  of  any  Cemetery  Lot,  within  the  limits  of 
the  Garden  and  Cemetery  aforesaid,  or  shall  wilfully 
destroy,  remove,  cut,  break  or  injure  any  tree,  shrub  or 
plant  within  the  limits  of  the  said  Garden  and  Cemetery, 
or  shall  shoot  or  discharge  any  gun  or  other  fire-arm 
within  the  said  limits,  shall  be  deemed  guilty  of  a  mis- 
demeanor, and  shall,  upon  conviction  thereof  before 
any  justice  of  the  Peace  or  other  Court  of  competent 
jm'isdiction  within  the  County  of  Middlesex,  be  punished 
by  a  fine  not  less  than  five  dollars  nor  more  than  fifly 
dollars,  according  to  the  nature  and  aggravation  of  the 
offence ;  and  such  offender  shall  also  be  liable,  in  an 
action  of  trespass  to  be  brought  against  him  in  any 
Court  of  competent  jurisdiction  in  the  name  of  the 
Proprietors  of  the  Cemetery  of  Mount  Auburn,  to  pay 
all  such  damages  as  shall  have  been  occasioned  by 
his  unlawful  act  or  acts,  which  money  when  recov- 
ered shall  be  applied  by  the  said  Corporation,  under  the 
direction  of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  to  the  reparation 
and  restoration  of  the  property  destroyed  or  injured  as 
above,  and  members  of  the  said  Corporation  shall  be 
competent  witnesses  in  such  suits. 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  29 

Section  8.  Be  it  further  ermded,  That  the  Lots  in 
said  Cemetery  shall  be  mdivisible,  and  upon  the  death 
of  any  Proprietor  of  any  Lot  in  the  said  Cemetery, 
containing  not  less  than  three  hundred  square  feet,  the 
devisee  of  such  Lot,  or  the  heir  at  law,  as  the  case  may 
be,  shall  be  entitled  to  all  the  privileges  of  membership 
as  aforesaid;  and  if  there  be  more  than  one  devisee 
or  heir  at  law^  of  each  Lot,  the  Board  of  Trustees  for 
the  time  being  shall  designate,  w^hich  of  the  said  devisees 
or  heirs  at  law  shall  represent  the  said  Lot,  and  vote  in 
the  meetings  of  the  Corporation,  which  designation 
shall  continue  in  force,  until  by  death,  removal  or  other 
sufficient  cause,  another  designation  shall  become  nec- 
essary ;  and  in  making  such  designation  the  Trustees 
shall,  as  far  as  they  conveniently  may,  give  the  prefer- 
ence to  males  over  females,  and  to  proximity  of  blood 
and  priority  of  age,  having  due  regard,  however,  to 
proximity  of  residence. 

Section  9.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  it  shall  be 
lawful  for  the  said  Corporation  to  take  and  hold  any 
grant,  donation  or  bequest  of  property  upon  trust,  to 
apply  the  income  thereof  under  the  direction  of  the 
Board  of  Trustees  for  the  improvement  or  embellish- 
ment of  the  said  Cemetery  or  of  the  Garden  adjacent 
thereto,  or  of  any  buildings,  structures  or  fences  erected 
or  to  be  erected  upon  the  lands  of  the  said  Corporation, 
or  of  any  individual  Proprietor  of  a  lot  in  the  Ceme- 
tery, or  for  the  repair,  preservation,  or  renewal  of  any 
tomb,  monument,  grave-stone,  fence  or  railing,  or  other 
erection  in  or  around  any  Cemeteiy  Lot,  or  for  the 
planting  and  cultivation  of  trees,  shrubs,  flowers  or 
plants  in  or  ai-ound  any  Cemetery  Lot,  according  to  the 
terms  of  such  grant,  donation  or  bequest;   and  the 


30  HISTORY     OF 

Supreme  Judicial  Court  in  this  Commonwealth,  or  any 
other  Court  therein  having  equity,  jurisdiction,  shall 
have  full  power  and  jurisdiction,  to  compel  the  due 
performance  of  the  said  trusts,  or  any  of  them,  upon  a 
bill  filed  by  a  Proprietor  of  any  lot  in  the  said  Cemetery 
for  that  purpose. 

Section  10.  Be  it  further  enacted^  as  follows,  First, 
That  the  present  Proprietors  of  Lots  in  the  said  Ceme- 
tery, who  shall  become  members  of  the  Corporation 
created  by  this  Act,  shall  henceforth  cease  to  be  mem- 
bers of  the  said  Horticultural  Society,  so  far  as  their 
membership  therein  depends  on  their  being  Proprietors 
of  Lots  in  the  said  Cemetery ;  Secondly,  That  the  sales 
of  the  Cemetery  Lots  shall  continue  to  be  made  as  fast 
as  it  is  practicable  by  the  Corporation  created  by  this 
Act,  at  a  price  not  less  than  the  sum  of  Sixty  Dollars 
for  every  Lot  containing  three  hundred  square  feet, 
and  so  in  proportion  for  any  greater  or  less  quantity, 
unless  the  said  Horticultural  Society  and  the  Corpora- 
tion created  by  this  Act,  shall  mutually  agree  to  sell 
the  same  at  a  less  price ;  Thirdly,  that  the  proceeds 
of  the  first  sales  of  such  Lots,  after  deducting  the 
annual  expenses  of  the  Cemeteiy  establishment,  shall 
be  applied  to  the  extinguishment  of  the  present  debts 
due  by  the  said  Horticultural  Society  on  account  of 
the  said  Garden  and  Cemetery.  And  after  the  extin- 
guishment of  the  said  debts,  the  balance  of  the  said 
proceeds  and  the  proceeds  of  all  future  sales,  shall 
annually,  on  the  first  Monday  in  every  year,  be  divided 
between  the  said  Horticultural  Society  and  the  Corpo- 
ration created  by  this  Act,  in  manner  following,  namely, 
fourteen  hundred  dollars  shall  be  first  deducted  from 
the  gross  proceeds  of  the  sales  of  Lots  during  the  pre- 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  31 

ceding  year,  for  the  purpose  of  defraying  the  Superin- 
tendent's salary  and  other  incidental  expenses  of  the 
Cemetery  establishment;  and  the  residue  of  the  said 
gross  proceeds  shall  be  divided  between  the  said  Hor- 
ticultural Society,  and  the  Corporation  created  by  this 
Act,  as  follows,  namely,  one  fourth  part  thereof  shall 
be  received  by  and  paid  over  to  the  said  Horticultural 
Society,  on  the  first  Monday  of  January  of  every  year, 
and  the  remaining  three  fourth  parts  shall  be  retained 
and  held  by  the  Corporation  created  by  this  Act,  to 
their  own  use  forever.  And  if  the  sales  of  any  year 
shall  be  less  than  fourteen  hundred  dollars,  then  the 
deficiency  shall  be  a  charge  on  the  sales  of  the  suc- 
ceeding year  or  years.  Fourthly,  the  money  so  received 
by  the  said  Horticultural  Society  shall  be  forever  devo- 
ted and  applied  by  the  said  Society  to  the  purposes  of  an 
Experimental  Garden  and  to  promote  the  art  and  science 
of  Horticulture,  and  for  no  other  purpose.  And  the 
money  so  retained  by  the  Corporation  created  by  this 
Act,  shall  be  forever  devoted  and  applied  to  the  preser- 
vation, improvement,  embellishment  and  enlargement 
of  the  said  Cemetery  and  Garden,  and  the  incidental 
expenses  thereof,  and  for  no  other  purpose  whatsoever ; 
Fifthly,  a  Committee  of  the  said  Horticultural  Society, 
duly  appointed  for  this  purpose,  shall,  on  the  first 
Monday  of  January  of  every  year,  have  a  right  to 
inspect  and  examine  the  books  and  accounts  of  the 
Treasurer,  or  other  officer  acting  as  Treasurer  of  the 
Corporation  created  by  this  Act,  as  far  as  may  be  nec- 
essary to  ascertain  the  sales  of  Lots  of  the  preceding 
year. 

Section  11.   Be  it  further  enacted,  That  any  three  or 
more  of  the   persons  named  in  this  Act  shall  have 


82  HISTORY     OF 

authority  to  call  the  first  meeting  of  the  said  Corpora- 
tion by  an  advertisement  in  one  or  more  newspapers 
printed  in  the  City  of  Boston,  seven  days,  at  least, 
before  the  time  of  holding  such  meeting,  and  speci- 
fying the  time  and  place  thereof.  And  all  Proprie- 
tors of  Lots,  who  shall  before,  at  or  during  the  time 
of  holding  such  meeting,  by  writing,  assent  to  this  Act, 
shall  be  entitled  to  vote  in  person  or  by  proxy  at  the 
said  first  meeting.  And  at  such  meeting  or  any  adjourn- 
ment thereof,  any  elections  may  be  had,  and  any  business 
done,  which  are  herein  authorized  to  be  had  and  done 
at  an  annual  meeting,  although  the  same  may  not  be 
specified  m  the  notice  for  the  said  meeting.  And  the 
first  Board  of  Trustees,  chosen  at  the  said  meeting,  shall 
continue  in  office  until  the  annual  meeting  of  the  said 
Corporation  next  ensuing  their  choice,  and  until  another 
Board  are  chosen  in  their  stead,  in  pursuance  of  this 
Act. 

Section  12.  Be  it  further  enacted,  That  the  said 
Cemetery  shall  be  and  hereby  is  declared  exempted 
from  all  public  taxes,  so  long  as  the  same  shall  remain 
dedicated  to  the  purposes  of  a  Cemeteiy. 

In  House  of  Representatives,  March  27, 1835.  Passed 
to  be  enacted. 

JULIUS  ROCKWELL,  Speaker, 

In  Senate,  March  28, 1835.     Passed  to  be  enacted. 

GEORGE  BLISS,  President 

March  31,  1835.     Approved, 

SAMUEL  T.  ARMSTRONG. 
A  true  Copy.      Attest. 

EDWARD  D.  BANGS, 

Secretary  of  the  Comtnonivealth. 


MOUNT     AUBURN.  33 

The  amount  paid  by  these  proprietors  to  the  Horti- 
cuhural  Society,  under  the  articles  of  separation,  was 
$4,223,42.  The  original  cost  of  the  land  was  $9,766,89. 
The  quantity,  in  all,  is  one  hundred  and  ten  and  a  quar- 
ter acres,  a  piece  having  been  added,  on  the  west  side, 
to  the  first  purchase.  The  total  cost  of  grounds  and 
improvements, 'up  to  the  close  of  the  year  last  past,  is 
$34,107,57.  The  whole  number  of  lots  disposed  of  at 
that  date  was  six  hundred  and  thirty-four,  and  the 
amount  of  purchase-money,  including  that  given  for 
selection,  $50,077,59.  The  Proprietors  had  funds  in- 
vested in  Treasuiy  to  the  amount  of  $11,980,79. 

The  following  is  the  return  of  tombs  built,  monu- 
ments erected,  and  interments,  for  each  year,  since  the 
establishment  of  the  Cemetery,  ending  December,  1838. 

Tombs.  Moiui'ts.  Inter'mis. 


1st  year 

ending 

Dec. 

8,  1832, 

6 

5 

17 

2   " 

u 

i8a3. 

11 

12 

71 

3 

u 

1834, 

21 

16 

101 

4   " 

u 

1835, 

22 

38 

101 

5 

il 

1836, 

19 

17 

175 

6 

u 

1837, 

43 

21 

191 

7 

ii 

1838, 

22 

16 

174 

144 

125 

830 

In  the  Appendix  will  be  found  the  present  terms  of 
subscription  for  lots,  with  other  matters  of  some  interest, 
relating  to  the  economy  of  the  establishment.*' 

*  See  Appendix,  No.  V. 


34  HISTORY     OF 

From  the  number  of  tombs  built,  it  will  be  inferred 
that  the  taste  is  a  prevalent  one,  though  it  seems  to 
admit  of  some  question  whether  this  mode  of  interment 
possesses  the  advantages  over  the  more  usual  practice 
which  are  apparently  ascribed  to  it.  It  is  almost  uni- 
formly insecure  and  temporary  at  the  best,  while  the 
nature  of  the  erection  makes  it  impossible  to  avoid,  after 
a  time,  some  inconveniences,  inconsistent  with  the 
general  good  appearance  of  the  Cemetery.  These  must 
be  understood  by  those  who  have  visited  Phe  la  Chaise, 
On  this  point,  a  correspondent  of  one  of  the  Boston 
papers  some  years  since,  remarks  as  follows : 

"  It  is  a  part  of  the  original  design  of  this  establishment, 
though  not  an  obligatory  one,  that  interments  shall  be 
made  in  single  or  separate  graves,  rather  than  in  tombs. 
The  abundant  space  afforded  by  the  extensiveness  of 
the  tract  which  has  been  purchased,  precludes  the 
necessity  of  constructing  vaults  for  the  promiscuous 
concentration  of  numbers.  It  is  believed  that  the  com- 
mon grave  affords  the  most  simple,  natural  and  secure 
method  by  w  hich  the  body  may  return  to  the  bosom  of 
the  earth,  to  be  peacefully  blended  with  its  original  dust. 
Whatever  consolation  can  be  derived  from  the  gather- 
ing together  of  members  of  the  same  families,  is  provi- 
ded for  by  the  appropriation  of  lots,  each  sufficient  for 
a  family,  while  the  provision  that  the  same  spot  or 
grave  shall  not  be  twice  occupied  for  interment,  secures 
to  the  buried  an  assurance  of  undisturbed  rest,  not 
always  found  in  more  costly  constructions. 

On  the  same  subject  another  consideration  may  be 
added.  It  is  desired  that  the  place  may  become  beau- 
tiful, attractive,  consoling, — not  gloomy  and  repulsive, 


MOUNT    AUBURN.  35 

— that  what  the  earth  has  once  covered  it  shall  not 
again  reveal  to  light, — that  the  resources  of  art  shall 
not  be  w^asted  in  vain  efforts  to  delay  or  modify  the 
inevitable  courses  of  nature.  It  is  hoped,  therefore, 
that  any  sums  which  individuals  may  think  it  proper  to 
devote  to  the  improvement  of  the  place  of  sepulture  of 
themselves  and  their  friends,  may  be  expended  above 
the  surface  of  the  earth, — not  under  it.  A  beautiful 
monument  is  interesting  to  every  one.  A  simple  bed 
of  roses  under  the  broad  canopy  of  heaven,  is  a  more 
approachable,  a  far  more  soothing  object,  than  the  most 
costly  charnel-house." 

To  the  summary  sketch  here  given  of  the  present 
condition  of  Mount  Auburn,  it  may  be  proper  to  add 
that  it  is  believed  to  be  the  intention  of  the  proprie- 
tors, as  soon  as  their  funds  may  allow,  to  surround  the 
establishment  with  a  wall  of  stone,  in  place  of  the  fence 
now  existing.  This  improvement  will  doubtless  be  at 
once  of  a  substantial  and  elegant  design.  Other  addi- 
tions will  of  course  occur  from  time  to  time.  We  take 
occasion  to  suggest,  meanwhile,  the  desirableness  of 
donations  and  legacies  to  the  Corporation,  for  uses  of 
the  description  now  referred  to,  on  the  part  of  those 
opulent  admirers  of  nature,  and  patrons  of  the  arts, 
who  are  interested  in  the  decoration  of  these  sacred 
grounds. 


APPENDIX^  I. 


GENERAL  DEARBORN'S  REPORT. 

When  the  Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society  was 
organized,  it  was  confidently  anticipated,  that,  at  no 
very  distant  period,  a  Garden  of  Experiment  would  be 
established  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston ;  but  to  arrive  at 
such  a  pleasing  result,  it  was  deemed  expedient  that 
our  efforts  should  first  be  directed  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  objects  which  would  not  require  very  extensive 
pecuniary  resources ;  that  we  should  proceed  with  great 
caution,  and  by  a  prudential  management  of  our  means, 
gradually  develope  a  more  complete  and  efficient  system 
for  rendering  the  institution  as  extensively  useful  as  it 
was  necessary  and  important.  Public  favor  was  to  be 
propitiated  by  the  adoption  of  such  incipient  measures 
as  were  best  calculated  to  encourage  patronage,  and 
insure  ultimate  success. 

With  these  views,  the  labors  of  the  Society  have  been 
confined  to  the  collection  and  dissemination  of  intelli- 
gence, plants,  scions,  and  seeds,  in  the  various  depart- 
ments of  Horticulture.  An  extensive  correspondence 
was  therefore  opened  with  similar  associations  in  this 
country  and  in  Europe,  as  well  as  with  many  gentlemen 
who  are  distinguished  for  their  theoretical  attainments, 
practical  information,  and  experimental  researches,  in 
all  the  branches  of  rural  economy,  on  this  continent, 
and  other  portions  of  the  globe. 


APPENDIX.  37 

The  kind  disposition,  which  has  been  generally  evin- 
ced, to  advance  the  interest  of  the  Society,  has  had  a 
salutary  and  cheering  influence.  Many  interesting  and 
instructive  communications  have  been  received,  and 
valuable  donations  of  books,  seeds,  and  plants  have 
been  made  by  generous  foreigners,  and  by  citizens  of  the 
United  States.  A  liberal  oflTer  of  co-operation  has  been 
promptly  tendered  in  both  hemispheres,  and  great 
advantages  are  anticipated  from  a  mutual  interchange 
of  good  offices. 

A  library  of  considerable  extent  has  been  formed, 
containing  many  of  the  most  celebrated  English  and 
French  works  on  Horticulture,  several  of  which  are 
magnificent.  The  apartments  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  Society  have  been  partially  embellished  with 
beautiful  paintings  of  some  of  our  choice  native  varie- 
ties of  fruits  ;  and  by  weekly  exhibitions,  during  eight 
months  of  the  year,  of  fruits,  flowers,  and  esculent 
vegetables  ; — by  awarding  premiums  for  proficiency  in 
the  art  of  gardening,  and  the  rearing  of  new,  valuable, 
or  superior  products; — by  disseminating  intelligence, 
and  accounts  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Society  at  its 
regular  and  special  meetings,  through  the  medium  of 
the  New  England  Farmer ;  and  by  an  annual  festival, 
and  public  exhibition  of  the  various  products  of  Horti- 
culture, an  interest  has  been  excited,  and  a  spirit  of 
inquiry  awakened,  auspicious  to  the  Institution,  while  a 
powerful  impulse  has  been  given  to  all  the  branches  of 
rural  industry,   far  beyond  our  most  sanguine  hopes. 

To  foster  and  extend  a  taste  for  the  pleasant,  useful 
and  refined  art  of  Gardening,  the  time  appears  to  have 
arrived  for  enlarging  the  sphere  of  action,  and  giving 
3 


38  ArPENDIX. 

the  most  ample  development  to  the  original  design  of 
the  Society. 

The  London,  Paris,  Edinburg,  and  Liverpool  Horti- 
cultural Associations,  have  each  established  Experimen- 
tal Gardens,  and  the  beneficial  eflfects  have  been  conspic- 
uously experienced ;  and  not  only  throughout  England, 
Scotland  and  France, — but  the  whole  civilized  w^orld  is 
deriving  advantages  fi-om  those  magnificent  depositories, 
of  the  rarest  products  which  have  been  collected  from 
the  vast  domains  of  Pomona  and  Flora.  These  noble 
precedents  have  been  followed  in  Russia,  Germany, 
Holland  and  Italy.  We  also  must  emulate  the  merito- 
rious examples  of  those  renowned  institutions,  and  be 
thus  enabled  to  reciprocate  their  favors,  from  like  col- 
lections of  useful  and  ornamental  plants.  An  equally 
enlightened  taste  will  be  thus  superinduced  for  those 
comforts  and  embellishments,  and  that  intellectual 
enjoyment,  which  the  science  and  practice  of  Horticul- 
ture aiFord. 

With  the  Experimental  Garden,  it  is  recommended 
to  unite  a  Rural  Cemetery  ;  for  the  period  is  not  distant, 
when  all  the  burial-grounds  within  the  City  will  be 
closed,  and  others  must  be  formed  in  the  country,  the 
primitive  and  only  proper  location.  There  the  dead 
may  repose  undisturbed,  through  countless  ages.  There 
can  be  formed  a  public  place  of  sepulchre,  where 
monuments  may  be  erected  to  our  illustrious  men,  whose 
remains,  thus  far,  have  unfortunately  been  consigned 
to  obscure  and  isolated  toimbs,  instead  of  being  collected 
within  one  common  depository,  where  their  great  deeds 
might  be  perpetuated  and  their  memories  cherished  by 
succeeding  generations.    Though  dead,  they  would  be 


APPENDIX.  39 

eternal  admonitors  to  the  living, — teaching  them  the 
way  which  leads  to  national  glory  and  individual 
renown. 

When  it  is  perceived  what  laudable  efforts  have  been 
made  in  Europe,  and  how  honorable  are  the  results,  it  is 
impossible  that  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  should 
long  linger  in  the  rear  of  the  general  march  of  improve- 
ment. They  will  hasten  to  present  establishments,  and 
to  evince  a  zeal  for  the  encouragement  of  rural  economy, 
commensurate  with  the  extent  and  natural  resources  of 
the  country,  and  the  variety  of  its  soil  and  climate. 

Your  Committee  have  not  a  doubt  that  an  attempt 
should  be  made  in  this  State  to  rival  the  undertakings 
of  other  countries,  in  all  that  relates  to  the  cultivation 
of  the  soil.  The  intelligent,  patriotic  and  wealthy  will 
cheerfully  lend  their  aid,  in  the  establishment  of  a 
Garden  of  Experiment,  and  a  Cemetery.  Massachusetts 
has  ever  been  distinguished  for  her  public  and  private 
munificence,  in  the  endowment  of  colleges,  academies, 
and  numerous  associations  for  inculcating  knowledge, 
and  the  advancement  of  all  branches  of  industry.  A 
confident  reliance  is  therefore  reposed  on  the  same 
sources  of  beneficence.  The  Legislature  will  not  refuse 
its  patronage,  but  will  readily  unite  with  the  people  in 
generous  contributions  for  the  accomplishment  of 
objects  so  well  calculated  to  elevate  the  character  of 
the  Commonwealth,  and  that  of  its  citizens. 

The  Experimental  Garden  is  intended  for  the 
improvement  of  Horticulture  in  all  its  departments, 
ornamental  as  well  as  useful. 

The  objects  which  will  chiefly  claim  attention,  are 

the  collection  and  cultivation  of  common,  improved, 

2# 


40  APPENDIX. 

and  new  varieties  of  the  different  kinds  of  Fruits, 
Esculent  Vegetables,  Forest  and  Ornamental  Trees  and 
Shrubs,  Flowering,  Economical  and  other  intei*esting 
Plants,  which  do  not  exclusively  belong  to  the  "predial 
department  of  tillage  ; — paying  particular  atten  to 
the  qualities  and  habits  of  each  ;  instituting  compaidtive 
experiments  on  the  modes  of  culture  to  which  they 
are  usually  subjected,  so  as  to  attain  a  knowledge  of  the 
most  useful,  rare  and  beautiful  species  ;  the  best  process 
of  rearing  and  propagating  them,  by  seeds,  scions, 
buds,  suckers,  layers,  and  cuttings ; — the  most  successful 
methods  of  insuring  perfect  and  abundant  crops,  as 
well  as  satisfactory  results  in  all  the  branches  of  useful 
and  ornamental  planting,  appertaining  to  Horticulture. 

Compartments  are  to  be  assigned  for  the  particular 
cultiv^ation  of  Fruit  Trees,  Timber  Trees,  Ornamental 
Trees  and  Shrubs,  Esculent  Vegetables,  Flowers,  and 
for  the  location  of  Green-Houses,  Stoves,  Vineries, 
Orangeries,  and  Hot-Beds. 

For  the  accommodation  of  the  Garden  of  Experiment 
and  Cemetei-y,  at  least  seventy  acres  of  land  are  deemed 
necessary  ;  and  in  making  the  selection  of  a  site,  it  was 
very  important  that  from  forty  to  fifty  acres  should  be 
well  or  partially  covered  with  forest-trees  and  shrubs, 
which  could  be  appropriated  for  the  latter  establish- 
ment ;  that  it  should  present  all  possible  varieties  of 
soil,  common  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston ; — be  diver- 
sified by  hills,  valleys,  plains,  brooks,  and  low  meadows, 
and  bogs,  so  as  to  aflTord  proper  localities  for  every  kind 
of  tree  and  plant  that  will  flourish  in  this  climate  ; — 
and  be  near  to  some  large  stream  or  river,  and  easy  of  . 
access  by  land  and  water ; — but  still  sufficiently  retired. 


APPENDIX.  41 

To  realize  these  advantages,  it  is  proposed,  that  a  tract 
of  land  called  Sweet  Auburn,  situated  in  Cambridge, 
should  be  purchased.  As  a  large  portion  of  the  ground 
is  now  covered  with  trees,  shrubs  and  wild  flowering 
plants,  avenues  and  walks  may  be  made  through  them, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  the  whole  establishment 
interesting  and  beautiful,  at  a  small  expense,  and  within 
a  few  years,  and  ultimately  to  offer  an  example  of  land- 
scape or  picturesque  gardening,  in  conformity  to  the 
modern  style  of  laying  out  grounds,  which  will  be 
highly  creditable  to  the  Society. 

The  streams,  and  parcels  of  bog  and  meadow-land 
may  be  easily  converted  into  ponds,  and  variously 
formed  sheets  of  water,  which  will  furnish  appropriate 
positions  for  aquatic  plants,  while  their  borders  may  be 
planted  with  Rhododendrons,  Azaleas,  several  species 
of  the  superb  Magnolia,  and  other  plants,  which  require 
a  constantly  humid  soil,  and  decayed  vegetable  matter, 
for  their  nourishment. 

On  the  Southeastern  and  Northeastern  borders  of  the 
tract  can  be  arranged  the  nurseries,  and  portions  selected 
for  the  culture  of  fruit-trees  and  esculent  vegetables, 
on  an  extensive  scale  ;  there  may  be  arranged  the  Arbo- 
retum, the  Orchard,  the  Culinarium,  Floral  department. 
Melon-grounds  and  Strawberry  beds,  and  Green-houses. 

The  remainder  of  the  land  may  be  devoted  to  the 
Cemetery. 

By  means  of  a  more  extensive  con*espondence  with 
eminent  Horticulturists  it  is  certain  that  many  valua- 
ble, rare,  and  beautiful  plants  may  be  obtained,  not  only 
from  all  parts  of  our  own  country,  but  other  regions  of 

the  globe,  which  could  be  naturalized  to  the  soil  and 
3# 


42  APPENDIX. 

climate  of  New  England.  This  can  be  efficiently 
undertaken,  so  soon  as  a  Garden  of  Experiment  is 
formed,  but  it  would  be  almost  useless  to  procure  large 
collections  of  seeds  or  plants,  until  we  are  enabled  to 
cultivate  them  under  the  immediate  direction  of  the 
Society. 

Accounts  of  the  experiments  which  may  be  made, 
should  be  periodically  reported  and  published;  and 
seeds,  buds,  cuttings,  and  uncommon  varieties  of  rooted 
plants  may  be  distributed  among  the  members  of  the 
Society,  and  be  sold  for  its  benefit,  in  such  manner  as 
may  be  found  most  expedient,  to  render  the  garden  the 
most  extensively  useful  in  all  its  relations  with  the 
wants,  comforts  and  pleasures  of  life. 

Such  an  establishment  is  required  for  *  collecting  the 
scattered  rays  of  intelligence,  and  blending  them  with 
the  science  and  accumulating  experience  of  the  times,' 
and  then  diflTusiug  them  far  and  wide,  to  cheer  and 
enlighten  the  practical  Horticulturist  in  his  career  of 
agreeable  and  profitable  industry.  It  will  powerfully 
contribute  to  increase  the  taste  for  rural  pursuits, — 
stimulate  a  generous  spirit  of  research  and  emulation, — 
suggest  numerous  objects  worthy  of  inquiry  and  expe- 
riment,— multiply  the  facilities  of  information  and  the 
interchange  of  indigenous  and  exotic  plants, — develope 
the  vast  vegetable  resources  of  the  Union, — give  activity 
to  enterprise, — increase  the  enjoj^ment  of  all  classes 
of  citizens, — and  advance  the  prosperity,  and  improve 
the  general  aspect  of  the  whole  country. 

The  establishment  of  a  Cemetery  in  connexion  with 
the  Garden  of  Experiment,  cannot  fail  of  meeting 
public  approbation.       Such  rural  burial-places  were 


APPENDIX.  43 

common  among  the  ancients,  who  allowed  no  grave- 
yards within  their  cities.  The  Potter's  Field  was 
without  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  and  in  the  Twelve 
Tables  it  was  prescribed  '  that  the  dead  should  neither 
be  buried  or  burned  in  the  City'  of  Rome.  Evelyn 
states,  *that  the  custom  of  burying  in  churches  and 
near  about  them,  especially  in  great  cities,  is  a  novel 
presumption,  indecent,  sordid,  and  very  prejudicial  to 
health ;  it  was  not  done  among  the  Christians  in  the  prim- 
itive ages ;'  and  was  forbidden  by  the  Emperors  Gratian, 
Valentian,  and  Theodosius,  and  never  sanctioned  until 
the  time  of  Gregory  the  Great.  The  Eastern  Christians 
do  not  now  inter  the  dead  within  their  churches.  Dur- 
ing the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  groves  were  selected  as 
places  of  sepulture.  When  Sarah  died,  Abraham  pur- 
chased '  the  field  of  Ephron,  in  Machpeiah,  with  all  the 
trees  that  were  therein  and  the  borders  round  about,  as 
a  burying  place,'  and  there  he  buried  his  wife ;  *  and 
there  they  buried  Abraham,  Isaac,  Rebekah  and  Leah ;' 
and  when  Jacob  had  blessed  his  sons,  'he  said  unto 
them,  I  am  to  be  gathered  unto  my  people :  bury  me 
with  my  fathers  in  the  cave  that  is  in  the  field  of 
Ephron.'  Deborah  '  was  buried  beneath  Beth-el  under 
an  oak,'  and  the  valiant  men  of  Jabesh-gilead  removed 
the  bodies  of  Saul  and  his  sons  from  the  wall  of 
Bethshon  and  '  buried  them  under  a  tree.'  Moses  was 
buried  in  '  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab ;'  Joseph,  in  *  a 
parcel  of  ground  in  Shechem;'  Eleazer,  the  son  of 
Aaron,  *  in  a  hill  that  pertained  to  Phinehas;'  and 
Manassah,  with  Amon  *  in  the  garden  of  Uzza.' 

The  planting  of  rose-trees  upon  graves  is  an  ancient 
custom :  Anacreon  says  that  '  it  protects  the  dead  ;'  and 
Propertius  indicates  the  usage  of  burying  amidst  roses. 


44  APPENDIX. 

Plato  sanctioned  the  planting  of  trees  over  sepulchres, 
and  the  tomb  of  Ariadne  was  in  the  Arethusian  Groves 
of  Crete.  The  Catacombs  of  Thebes  vrere  excavated 
in  the  gorges  of  forest-clad  hills,  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  Nile ;  and  those  of  Memphis  were  beyond  the 
lake  Acherusia,  from  which  the  Grecian  mythologists 
derived  their  fabulous  accounts  of  the  Elysian  Fields. 
There  it  was  supposed  the  souls  of  the  virtuous  and 
illustrious  retired  after  death,  and  roamed  through  bow- 
ers forever  green,  and  over  meadows  spangled  with 
flowers,  and  refreshed  by  perennial  streams.  In  the 
mountains  near  Jerusalem  were  located  the  tombs  of 
the  opulent  Israelites ;  and  in  a  Garden,  near  the  base 
of  Calvary,  had  Joseph,  the  Aramathean,  prepared  that 
memorable  sepulchre  in  which  was  laid  the  crucified 
Messiah.  The  Greeks  and  Romans  often  selected  the 
secluded  recesses  of  wooded  heights  and  vales,  as  fa- 
vorable places  of  interment,  or  the  borders  of  the  great 
public  highways,  where  elegant  monuments  were  erec- 
ted, and  surrounded  with  cypress  and  other  ever-ver- 
dant trees.  Many  of  the  richly-sculptured  sarcophagi 
and  magnificent  tombs,  reared  by  the  once  polished 
nations  of  Asia  Minor,  are  still  to  be  seen  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  numerous  ruined  cities  on  the  deserted  coast  of 
Karamania. 

The  Athenians  allowed  no  burials  within  the  city. 
The  illustrious  men,  who  had  either  died  in  the  service 
of  their  country,  or  were  thought  deserving  of  the  most 
distinguished  honors,  were  buried  in  the  Ceramicus, — 
an  extensive  public  cemeteiy  on  the  road  to  Thria. 
Tombs  and  statues  were  erected  to  their  memory,  on 
which  were  recounted  their  praises  and  exploits ;  and 


APPENDIX.  45 

to  render  them  familiar  to  all,  to  animate  every  citizen 
to  a  love  of  virtue  and  of  glory,  and  to  excite  in  youth- 
ful minds  an  ardent  desire  of  imitating  those  celebrated 
worthies,  the  spacious  grounds  were  embellished  with 
trees,  and  made  a  public  promenade.  Within  the  Ce- 
ramicus  was  the  Academy  where  Plato  and  the  great 
men  who  followed  him  met  their  disciples,  and  held 
assemblies  for  philosophical  conference  and  instruction. 
Connected  with  the  Academy  were  a  gymnasium,  and  a 
garden,  which  was  adorned  with  delightful  covered 
walks,  and  refreshed  by  the  waters  of  the  Cephisus, 
which  flowed,  under  the  shade  of  the  plane  and  various 
other  trees,  through  its  western  borders.  At  the  en- 
trance and  within  the  area  of  the  garden  were  temples, 
altars,  and  statues  of  the  gods. 

The  bodies  of  the  Athenians,  who  had  fallen  in  battle, 
were  collected  by  their  countrymen,  and  after  they 
were  consumed  on  the  funeral  pile,  their  bones  were 
carried  to  Athens ;  there  they  were  exposed,  in  cypress 
coffins,  under  a  large  tent,  for  three  days,  that  the 
relations  might  perform  those  libations  which  affection 
and  rehgion  enjoined;  then  they  were  placed  on  as 
many  cars  as  there  were  tribes,  and  the  procession 
proceeded  slowly  through  the  city,  to  the  Ceramicus, 
where  funeral  games  were  exhibited,  and  an  orator, 
publicly  appomted  for  the  occasion,  pronounced  an 
eulogium. 

Even  the  Turks,  who  are  so  opposed  to  the  culti- 
vation of  the  fine  arts,  embellish  their  grave-yards  with 
evergreens.  With  them  it  is  a  religious  duty  to  plant 
trees  around  the  graves  of  their  kindred,  and  the  bury- 
ing ground  of  Scutari  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 


4(3  APPENDIX. 

objects  in  the  environs  of  Constantinople.  Situated  in 
the  rear  of  the  town  and  extending  along  the  declivity 
of  the  Asiatic  shore,  towards  the  sea  of  Marmora,  it 
presents  a  vast  forest  of  majestic  trees ;  and  thither  the 
inhabitants  of  the  imperial  city  generally  resort,  during 
the  sultry  months  of  summer,  to  enjoy  the  cool  breezes, 
which  descend  from  the  Euxine,  or  are  wafted  over  the 
waves  of  the  Propontis.  Throughout  Italy,  France  and 
England,  there  are  many  cemeteries  wliich  are  orna- 
mented with  forest-trees  and  flowering  slirubs.  Phe 
la  Chaise,  in  the  environs  of  Paris,  has  been  admired, 
and  celebrated,  by  eveiy  traveller  who  has  visited  that 
beautiful  garden  of  the  dead. 

In  Liverpool  a  similar  burying-ground  was  completed 
three  years  since,  and  a  meeting  has  recently  been  held 
in  London  for  forming  one  in  the  vicinity  of  that  city, 
of  a  size  and  on  a  scale  of  magnificence  which  shall 
quadrate  with  the  wealth  and  vast  extent  of  the  mighty 
capital  of  a  great  nation.  Within  the  central  area  are 
to  be  exact  models  of  the  superb  temples,  triumphal 
arches,  columns  and  public  monuments  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  as  receptacles  or  memorials  of  departed  worthies 
of  the  empire. 

The  establishment  of  rural  cemeteries  similar  to  that 
of  Phe  la  Chaise,  has  often  been  the  subject  of  con- 
versation in  this  country,  and  frequently  adverted  to  by 
the  \\Titers  in  our  scientific  and  literaiy  publications. 
But  a  few  yeai's  since,  a  meeting  was  held  in  Boston, 
by  many  of  its  most  respectable  citizens,  for  the  purpose 
of  maturing  a  plan,  and  forming  such  an  establishment 
in  the  emirons  of  the  city.  No  one  can  be  indiflerent 
to  a  subject  of  such  deep  and  universal  interest.    Li 


APPEIfDIX.  47 

whatever  point  of  view  it  is  considered,  who  is  there, 
that  does  not  perceive  numerous  and  powerful  induce- 
ments for  aiding  in  its  accomplishment  ?  How  con- 
soling and  pleasing  is  the  thought  that  our  memories 
shall  be  cherished  after  death;  that  the  spot,  where 
our  ashes  repose,  shall  be  often  visited  by  dear  and 
constant  friends ;  that  they  will  there  linger,  to  call  up 
the  soothing  yet  melancholy  reminiscences  of  by-gone 
times  ;  that  the  sod  which  covers  us  will  be  kept  ever 
verdant;  that  a  magnificent  forest  will  be  reared  to 
overshadow  our  graves,  by  those  truly  kind  hands 
which  performed  the  last  sad  office  of  affection  ;  that 
flowers  will  fringe  the  pathways,  leading  to  our  lowly 
resting-place,  and  their  fragrance,  mingled  with  the 
holiest  aspirations,  ascend  to  the  throne  of  the  Eternal. 

To  those  who  mourn,  what  a  consolation  to  visit  the 
bower-sequestered  monument  of  a  much-loved  friend, 
under  circumstances  and  with  associations  so  favorably 
calculated  to  revive  agreeable  recollections  of  the  past ; 
and  when  those  revolting  ideas  are  excluded,  which 
obtrude  upon  the  mind  while  standing  in  the  usual 
di'eaiy,  desolate  and  ruinous  repositories  of  the  dead. 

In  the  Rural  Cemetery  the  names  and  virtues  of  the 
departed  would  live  in  perpetual  freshness,  and  their 
souls  seem  to  commune  with  those  who  come  to  do 
honor  to  their  manes.  Thus  would  all  like  to  repose 
in  death ;  and  who  would  not  deem  it  a  blessing,  to  be 
able  to  confer  that  favor  on  a  parent,  child,  wife,  husband 
or  friend?  How  can  this  object  be  so  successfully 
accomplished  as  in  connexion  with  an  Experimental 
Garden  ?  That  part  of  the  land  which  has  been  recom- 
mended for  a  Cemeterit,  may  be  circumvallated  by 


48  APPENDIX. 

a  spacious  avenue,  bordered  by  trees,  shrubbery  and 
perennial  flowers, — rather  as  a  Hne  of  demarcation,  than 
of  disconnexion, — for  the  ornamental  grounds  of  the 
Garden  should  be  apparently  blended  with  those  of  the 
Cemetery,  and  the  walks  of  each  so  intercommunicate, 
as  to  afford  an  uninterrupted  range  over  both,  as  one 
common  domain. 

Among  the  hills,  glades  and  dales,  which  are  now 
covered  with  evergreen,  and  deciduous  trees  and  shrubs, 
may  be  selected  sites  for  isolated  graves,  and  tombs, 
and  these  being  surmounted  with  columns,  obelisks,  and 
other  appropriate  monuments  of  granite  and  marble, 
may  be  rendered  interesting  specimens  of  art;  they 
will  also  vary  and  embellish  the  scenery,  embraced 
within  the  scope  of  the  numerous  sinuous  avenues 
that  may  be  felicitously  opened,  in  all  directions,  and 
to  a  vast  extent,  from  the  diversified  and  picturesque 
features  which  the  topography  of  this  tract  of  land 
presents. 

Besides  the  great  public  advantages  which  will  result 
from  the  Horticultural  department,  that  proportion  of 
the  land  which  may  be  consecrated  to  the  dead,  and 
rendered,  like  the  Elysian  Fields  of  the  Egyptians,  a 
holy  and  pleasant  resort  for  the  living, — the  whole  will 
present  one  of  the  must  instructive,  magnificent  and 
pleasant  promenades  in  our  country.  From  its  imme- 
diate proximity  to  the  Capital  of  the  State,  it  will  attract 
universal  interest,  and  become  a  place  of  healthful, 
refreshing  and  agreeable  resort,  from  early  spring  until 
the  close  of  autumn. 

To  accomplish  these  two  great  objects,  it  is  necessary 
that  a  fund  should  be  created,  immediately,  sufficient 


APPENDIX.  49 

for  the  purchase  of  the  land,  surrounding  it  with  a 
substantial  fence,  the  erection  of  a  gardener's  lodge, 
laying  out  the  grounds,  and  preparing  them  for  the 
purposes  of  an  Experimental  Garden  and  a  Cemetery. 
That  this  can  be  done  your  Committee  does  not  enter- 
tain a  doubt,  and  they  respectfully  recommend  the 
adoption  of  the  following  measures  as  best  calculated 
to  insure  success. 


APPENDIX  II. 


LIST     OF     ORIGINAL     SUBSCRIBERS. 


Samuel  Appleton, 
Nathan  Appleton, 
Abel  Adams, 
James  T.  Austin, 
Zabdiel  B.  Adams, 
Benjamin  Adams, 
Charles  Frederic  Adams, 
William  Austin, 
Charles  Brown,  Plymouth^ 
Joshua  Blake, 


Jesse  Bird, 
George  W.  Brimmer, 
Silas  BuUard, 
Charles  Barnard, 
Ebenezer  Bailey, 
Joseph  P.  Bradlee, 
Joseph  Baker, 
Jonas  B.  Brown, 
John  Brown, 
Levi  Brigham, 


50 


APPENDIX. 


George  Bond, 
Jacob  Bigelow, 
Charles  Brown, 
Benjamin  Bussey, 
Dennis  Brigham, 
John  Bryant, 
James  Boyd, 
Joseph  T.  Buckingham, 
Edwin  Buckingham, 
Zebedee  Cook,  Jr. 
George  W.  Coffin, 
Charles  P.  Curtis, 
Thomas  B.  Curtis, 
Alpheus  Cary, 
Josiah  Coolidge, 
Elizabeth  Craigie, 
Elijah  Cobb, 
George  G.  Channing, 
Samuel  F.  Coolidge, 
Joseph  Coolidge, 
James  Davis, 
WaiTcn  Dutton, 
Richard  C.  Derby, 
James  A.  Dickson, 
John  Davis, 
Daniel  Denny, 
H.  A.  S.  Dearborn, 
George  Darracott, 
David  Eckley, 
Alexander  H.  Everett, 
Henry  H.  Fuller, 
Robert  Farley, 


Benjamin  Fiske, 
Samuel  P.  P,  Fay, 
John  Farrar, 
Ebenezer  B.  Foster, 
Charles  Folsom, 
Richard  Fletcher, 
Francis  C.  Gray, 
John  C.  Gray, 
Benjamin  B.  Grant, 
Benjamin  A.  Gould, 
Oliver  Hastings, 
Thomas  Hastings, 
Charles  Hickling, 
Zelotes  Hosmer, 
Daniel  Henchman, 
Elisha  Haskell, 
Abraham  Howard, 
Enoch  Hobart, 
Sarah  L.  Howe, 
Zachariah  Hicks, 
Henderson  Inches, 
William  In  galls. 
Doming  Jarves, 
Charles  T.  Jackson, 
Joseph  B.  Joy, 
George  H.  Kuhn, 
Abel  Kendall,  Jr. 
Josiah  Loring, 
Heniy  Loring, 
John  Lamson, 
Seth  S.  Lynde, 
William  Lawrence, 


APPENDIX. 


51 


Amos  Lawrence, 
Abbott  Lawrence, 
John  Lemist, 
Francis  C.  Lowell, 
Charles  Lowell, 
Henry  Lienow, 
Isaac  Livermore, 
Isaac  Mead, 
R.  D.  C.  Merry, 
Isaac  McLellan, 
Francis  J.  Oliver, 
Thomas  H.  Perkins,  Jr. 
George  W.  Pratt, 
Isaac  Parker, 
Samuel  Pond, 
John  Pierpont, 
Francis  Parkman, 
Edward  W.  Payne, 
Josiah  Quincy, 
Henry  Rice, 
Ebenezer  Rollins, 
E.  A,  Raymond, 
James  Read, 
James  Russell, 
Henry  Robinson, 
John  Randall, 
John  P.  Rice, 
John  L.  Russell, 
James  Savage, 
James  S.  Savage, 


Lucius  M.  Sargent, 
Isaac  Staples, 
Charles  B.  Shaw, 
P.  R.  L.  Stone, 
Lemuel  Stanwood, 
George  C.  Shattuck, 
Joseph  Story, 
Henry  B.  Stone, 
Leonard  Stone, 
Robert  G.  Shaw, 
Asahel  Stearns, 
Jared  Sparks, 
David  A.  Simmons, 
David  Stone, 
Peter  Thatcher, 
Joseph  H.  Thayer, 
Supply  C.  Thwing, 
Frederic  Tudor, 
Charles  Tappan, 
Benjamin  F.  White, 
Thomas  Wiley, 
Abijah  White, 
James  Weld, 
Samuel  Walker, 
Rufus  W^yman, 
Thomas  B.  Wales, 
Samuel  G.  Will  ams, 
Samuel  Whitwell, 
George  Whittemore, 
Charles  Wells. 


FORM   or   CONVEYANCE. 

Know  all  men  by  these  presents,  That  the 
Proprietors  of  the  Cemetery  of  Mount  Auburn,  in  con- 
sideration of  dollars,  paid  to  them  by  of 
the  receipt  of  which  is  hereby  acknowledged, 
do  hereby  grant,  bargain,  sell  and  convey  to  the  said 
and  heirs  and  assigns  one  lot  of  land 
in  the  Cemetery  of  Mount  Auburn,  in  the  County  of 
Middlesex,  situated  on  the  way  called  and 
numbered  on  the  plan  of  said  Cemetery,  drawn  by  A. 
Wadsworth,  which  plan  is  in  the  possession 
of  the  said  Corporation,  for  inspection  by  the  said 
grantee,  heirs  and  assigns  at  all  seasonable  times ; 
the  said  lot  of  land  containing  superficial 
square  feet. 

To  have  and  to  hold  the  aforegranted  premises  unto 
the  said  heirs  and  assigns,  forever ;  subject, 

however,  to  the  conditions  and  limitations,  and  with  the 
privileges  following,  to  wit : 

First,  That  the  proprietor  of  the  said  lot  shall  have 
the  right  to  enclose  the  same,  with  a  wall  or  fence,  not 
exceeding  one  foot  in  thickness,  which  may  be  placed 
on  the  adjoining  land  of  the  Corporation,  exterior  to  the 
said  lot ; 

Second,  That  the  said  lot  of  land  shall  not  be  used  for 
any  other  purpose  than  as  a  place  of  burial  for  the  dead ; 


APPENDIX.  53 

and  no  trees  within  the  lot  or  border  shall  be  cut  down 
or  destroyed,  without  the  consent  of  the  Trustees  of  the 
said  Corporation. 

Third,  That  the  proprietor  of  the  said  lot  shall  have 
the  right  to  erect  stones,  monuments,  or  sepulchral 
structures,  and  to  cultivate  trees,  shrubs  and  plants,  in 
the  same  ; 

Fourth,  That  the  proprietor  of  the  said  lot  of  land 
shall  keep  in  repair,  at  his  or  her  own  expense,  the  land 
marks  of  the  same,  which  shall  be  erected  by  the  Cor- 
poration ; 

Fifth,  That  if  the  land  marks  and  boundaries  of  the 
said  lot  shall  be  effaced,  so  that  the  said  lot  cannot,  with 
reasonable  diligence,  be  found  and  identified,  the  said 
Trustees  shall  set  off,  to  the  said  grantee  heirs 

or  assigns,  a  lot  in  lieu  thereof,  in  such  part  of  the 
Cemetery  as  they  see  fit,  and  the  lot  hereby  granted 
shall,  in  such  case,  revert  to  the  Corporation  ; 

Sixth,  That  if  any  trees  or  shrubs  situated  in  said  lot 
of  land  shall  by  means  of  their  roots,  branches,  or 
otherwise,  become  detrimental  to  the  adjacent  lots  or 
avenues,  or  dangerous  or  inconvenient  to  passengers, 
it  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  said  Trustees  for  the  time 
being,  and  they  shall  have  the  right,  to  enter  into  the 
said  lot  and  remove  the  said  trees  and  shrubs,  or  such 
parts  thereof  as  are  thus  detrimental,  dangerous  or 
inconvenient ; 

Seventh,  That  if  any  monument,  or  effigy,  or  any 
structure  whatever,  or  any  inscription  be  placed  in  or 
upon  the  said  land,  which  shall  be  determined  by  the 
major  part  of  the  said  Trustees  for  the  time  being,  to  be 
oflfensive  or  improper,  the  said  Trustees,  or  the  major 


54  APPENDIX. 

part  of  them,  shall  have  the  right,  and  it  shall  be  their 
duty,  to  enter  upon  said  land,  and  remove  the  said 
offensive  or  improper  object  or  objects ; 

Eighth,  The  said  lot  of  land  shall  be  holden  subject 
to  the  provisions  contained  in  an  act  of  the  General 
Court,  dated  March  31,  1835,  and  entitled  "  An  act  to 
incorporate  the  Proprietors  of  the  Cemetery  of  Mount 
Auburn." 

And  the  said  proprietors  of  the  Cemetery  of  Mount 
Auburn  do  hereby  covenant  to  and  with  the  said 
heirs  and  assigns,  that  they  are  lawfully  seized  of  the 
aforegranted  premises,  and  of  the  ways  leading  to  the 
same  from  the  highway,  in  fee  simple ;  that  they  are 
free  from  all  incumbrances ;  that  the  Corporation  have 
a  right  to  sell  and  convey  the  said  premises  to  the  said 
for  the  purposes  above  expressed :  and  that 
they  will  warrant  and  defend  the  same  unto  the  said 
heirs  and  assigns  forever. 

In  testimony  whereof,  the  said  proprietors  of  the 
Cemetery  of  Mount  Auburn  have  caused  this  instru- 
ment to  be  signed  by  their  President,  and  their  Common 
Seal  to  be  hereto  affixed,  the  day  of  in 

the  year  of  our  Lord,  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and 

Executed  and  delivered  ? 
in  presence  of         ^ 


APPENDIX,   IV. 


AVENUES. 

Beech  Avenue  leads  from  Central  to  Poplar. 

Cedar 

a 

(( 

Cypress  to  Walnut. 

Central 

a 

a 

The  Gate  to  Walnut. 

Chestnut 

u 

a 

Mountain  to  Poplar. 

Cypress 

u 

a 

Central  to  Walnut. 

Citron 

u 

u 

Oak  to  Magnolia. 

Elm 

a 

u 

Pine  to  Pine. 

Fir 

u 

u 

Elm  to  junction  of  Walnut  and 
Cypress. 

Garden 

li 

a 

Maple  to  Central. 

Larch 

a 

» 

Poplar  to  Maple. 

Lime 

u 

u 

Maple  to  Maple. 

Laurel 

ii 

a 

Walnut  to  Walnut. 

Locust 

a 

it 

Beech  to  Poplar. 

Magnolia 

u 

a 

Mountain  to  Maple. 

Maple 

u 

11 

Larch  to  Garden. 

Mountain 

u 

u 

Chestnut  round  Mount  Auburn. 

Oak 

it 

a 

Magnolia  to  Willow. 

Pine 

u 

u 

C3Tpress  to  Central. 

Poplar 

u 

u 

Central  to  Chestnut. 

Spruce 

u 

« 

Pine  to  Walnut. 

Walnut 

u 

u 

Central  to  Mountain. 

Willow 

li 

u 

Poplar  to  Poplar. 

56 


APPENDIX. 


FOOT-PATHS. 

Alder    Path  leads  from  Locust  avenue  to  Poplar  avenue. 

Aster         "  "  Vine  to  Ivy  path. 

Amaranth"  "  Encircles  the  Crown  of  Harvard 

Hill. 

Almond     "  "  Indian-ridge  to  Indian-ridge. 

Aloe          "  "  Lidian-ridge  to  Lime  avenue. 

Azalia       "  "  Spruce  avenue  to  Spruce. 

Catalpa     "  "  Indian-ridge  to  the  same. 

Clematis  "  "  Magnolia  avenue  to  the  same. 

Crocus      "  "  Spruce  to  Fir  avenue. 

Cowslip    "  "  Spruce  to  Walnut  avenue. 

Dell           "  ^''  Vine  to  Vine  and  Ivy  paths. 

Eglantine  "  "  Fir  to  Spruce. 

Fern          "  "  Mountain  to  Walnut  avenue, 

Greenbrier  "  Pine  to  Fir. 

Hawthorn  "  "  Encircles  Juniper  Hill. 

Hazel         "  "  Mountain  avenue  to  Rose  path. 

Hemlock   "  "  Ivy  path  to  Poplar  avenue. 

Holly         "  "  Poplar  avenue  to  Ivy  path. 

Harebell     "  "  Walnut  to  Trefoil  path. 

Heath         "  "  Fir  to  Spruce. 

Indian-ridge  "  Larch  avenue  to  Central  avenue. 

Iris             "  "  Ivy  path  to  Moss  j)ath. 

Ivy             "  "  Poplar  avenue  to  Woodbine  path. 

Jasmine     "  "  Hawthorn  path  to  Chestnut  avenue. 

.Lilac          "  "  Indian-ridge  path  to  Willow  avenue, 

Lily            "  "  Woodbine  path  to  Poplar  avenue. 

Linden      "  "  Beech  avenue  to  the  same. 

Lotus        "  "  Magnolia  avenue  to  Clematis  path. 

Lupine      "  "  C3T)ress  avenue  to  Spruce. 

Mimosa     "  "  Fir  to  Spruce. 


APPENDIX. 


57 


Mayflower  leads  from  Gate  by  north  side  of  pond  to 

Garden  avenue. 

Myrtle       "  "     Chestnut  avenue  to  Hazel  path. 

Moss  "  "    Ivy  path  to  Laurel  avenue. 

Narcissus"  "    Willow  avenue  to  Alder  and  Catalpa 

paths,  around  Forest  pond. 

Olive         "  "    Myrtle  path  to  Sweetbrier  path. 

Osier         "  "    Indian-ridge  path  to  Willow  avenue. 

Orange      "  "    Walnut  avenue  to  the  same. 

Primrose  "  "    Mayflower,  south  of  Garden  pond. 

Pilgrim      "  "    Walnut  avenue  to  Spruce. 

Rose  "  "    Encircles  Harvard  Hill. 

Rosemary "  "    Jasmine  to  Hawthorn  path. 

Sumac       "  "    Moss  path  to  Violet  path. 

Sweetbrier  "     Chestnut  avenue  to  Hawthorn  path. 

Snowberry  "    Central  to  Pine  avenue. 

Sorrel        "  "     Fir  to  Spruce. 

Sedge        "  "    Fir  to  Heath. 

Trefoil       "  "     Spruce  to  Orange. 

Tulip        «  «     Trefoil  to  Walnut. 

Thistle      "  "     Spruce  to  Cowslip. 

Violet        "  "    Walnut  avenue  to  Ivy  path. 

Vine  "  "    Moss  path  to  Iris  path. 

Woodbine  "    Hawthorn  path  round  Cedar  hill. 

Yarrow     "  "    Greenbrier  to  Fir. 


HILLS 


Mount  Auburn, 
Harvard  hill, 
Temple  hill, 

Juniper  hilL 

2* 


Cedar  hill, 
Pine  hill. 
Laurel  hill. 


APPENDIX,  V 


OFFICERS      OF      THE      CORPORATION. 

Joseph  Story,  President 

George  Bond,  Treasurer,  Office  9  Kilby  Street. 

B.  R.  Curtis,  Secretary,  Office  16  Court  Street. 

»      trustees. 

Samuel  T.  Armstrong,  Benjamin  R.  Curtis, 

Jacob  Bigelow,  Benjamin  A.  Gould, 

George  Bond,  Isaac  Parker, 

Martin  Brimmer,  James  Read, 

Charles  P.  Curtis,  Joseph  Story. 

Committee  on  lots. 

George  Bond,  Jacob  Bigelow,   Charles  P.  Curtis. 
Superintendent,  James  W.  Russell. 


TERMS    OF    SUBSCRIPTION. 


The  price  of  a  lot  of  300  superficial  feet  is  Eighty 
Dollars,  and  in  proportion  for  a  larger  lot. 

Selections  may  be  made  on  the  following  terms,  and 


APPENDIX.  59 

the  person  who  first  reports  his  selection  to  the  Secre- 
tary, is  entitled  to  a  preference,  to  wit : 

1.  From  any  lots  numbered  1  to  350  inclusive  and 
unsold,  (a  choice  from  these  having  been  offered  by 
auction)  at  par. 

2.  From  the  remaining  lots  laid  out  and  unsold,  on 
payment  of  Ten  Dollars. 

3.  From  any  other  part  of  the  Cemetery,  on  the  pay- 
ment of  Twenty  Dollars. 

Provided  however,  that  in  all  cases  the  approbation 
of  the  Committee  on  lots  shall  be  required,  before  any 
lot  shall  be  laid  out  or  enlarged. 

Any  Proprietor  who  exchanges  his  lot,  shall  pay 
therefor  the  sum  then  chargeable  by  the  Regulations, 
for  the  right  of  selection ;  provided  however,  that  in  no 
case  shall  he  pay  less  than  Ten  Dollars. 

One  dollar  is  payable  to  the  Secretary  for  making 
and  recording  each  deed,  and  the  same  for  each  transfer 
of  a  lot.  * 


Conditions,  limitations,  and  privileges  to  which  every  lot  is 
subject  by  the  deed  of  tlie  Corporation,  to  tvit : 

First.  The  Proprietor  of  the  lot  shall  have  a  right  to 
enclose  ^the  same  with  a  wall  or  fence,  not  exceeding 
one  foot  in  thickness,  which  may  be  placed  on  the 
adjoining  land  of  the  Corporation  exterior  to  the  said 
lot. 

Second.    The  said  lot  shall  not  be  used  for  any  other 

purpose  than  as  a  place  of  burial  for  the  dead,  and  no 

trees  within  the  lot  or  border   shall  be  cut  down  or 
3# 


60  APPENDIX. 

destroyed,  without  the  consent  of  the  Trustees  of  the 
said  Corporation. 

Third.  The  Proprietor  of  the  said  lot  shall  have  the 
right  to  erect  stones,  monuments,  or  sepulchral  struc- 
tures, and  to  cultivate  trees,  shrubs  and  plants  in  the 
same. 

Fourth.  The  Proprietor  of  the  said  lot  shall  keep  in 
repair,  at  his  or  her  own  expense,  the  land-marks  of  the 
same,  which  shall  be  erected  by  the  Corporation. 

Fifth.  If  the  land-marks  and  boundaries  of  the  said 
lot  shall  be  effaced  so  that  the  said  lot  cannot  with 
reasonable  diligence  be  found  and  identified,  the  said 
Trustees  shall  set  off,  to  the  said  grantee,  his  or  her 
heirs  or  assigns,  a  lot  in  lieu  thereof,  in  such  part  of  the 
Cemetery  as  they  see  fit,  and  the  lot  hereby  granted 
shall,  in  such  case,  revert  to  the  Corporation. 

Sixth.  If  any  trees  or  shrubs  situated  in  said  lot, 
shall,  by  means  of  their  roots,  branches,  or  otherwise, 
become  detrimental  to  the  adjacent  lots  or  avenues,  or 
dangerous  or  inconvenient  to  passengers,  it  shall  be  the 
duty  of  the  said  Trustees,  for  the  time  being,  and  they 
shall  have  the  right,  to  enter  into  the  said  lot,  and 
remove  the  said  trees  and  shrubs,  or  such  parts  thereof 
as  are  thus  detrimental,  dangerous,  or  inconvenient. 

Seventh.  If  any  monument  or  effigy,  or  any  structure 
whatever,  or  any  inscription  be  placed  in  or  upon  the 
said  lot,  which  shall  be  determined  by  the  major  part 
of  the  said  Trustees  for  the  time  being,  to  be  offensive 
or  improper,  the  said  Trustees,  or  the  major  part  of 
them,  shall  have  the  right,  and  it  shall  be  their  duty,  to 
enter  upon  said  lot,  and  remove  the  said  offensive  or 
improper  object  or  objects. 


APPENDIX.  61 

Eighth.  The  said  lot  shall  be  holden  subject  to  the 
provisions  contained  in  an  Act  of  the  General  Court, 
dated  March  31,  1835,  and  entitled  "  An  Act  to  incoi> 
porate  the  Proprietors  of  the  Cemetery  of  Mount 
Auburn." 

(ly^  The  Trustees  request  that  all  railings  or  inclosures 
of  lots,  may  he  light,  neat  and  symmetrical, — and  that  no 
slabs  be  placed  in  the  Cemetery  unless  in  a  horizontal 
position, 

PUBLIC    LOT    ON    CYPRESS    AVENUE. 

This  is  an  enclosure  30  by  90  feet,  in  which  inter- 
ments may  be  made  on  payment  of  Ten  Dollars  each. 


REGULATIONS    CONCERNING   VISITERS. 

The  Secretary  will  issue  to  each  Proprietor  one  Ticket  of 
Admission  into  the  Cemetery  with  a  vehicle,  under  the 
folloiving  Regulations — the  violation  of  any  of  which, 
or  a  loan  of  the  Ticket,  involves  a  forfeiture  of  the 
privilege, 

1.  No  person  is  admitted  on  horseback. 

2.  No  vehicle  is  admitted  unless  accompanied  by  a 
Proprietor,  or  a  member  of  his  or  her  household,  w^ith 
his  or  her  ticket. 

3.  No  vehicle  is  to  be  driven  in  the  Cemetery  at  a 
rate  faster  than  a  w^alk. 

4.  No  horse  is  to  be  fastened  except  at  the  posts 
provided  for  this  purpose.  No  horse  is  to  be  left 
unfastened  without  a  keeper. 


62  APPENDIX. 

5.  All  persons  are  prohibited  from  gathering  any 
flowers,  either  wild  or  cultivated,  or  breaking  any  tree, 
shrub  or  plant. 

6.  All  persons  are  prohibited  from  writing  upon, 
defacing  and  injuring  any  monument,  fence,  or  other 
structure  in  or  belonging  to  the  Cemetery. 

7.  All  persons  are  prohibited  from  discharging 
fu*e-arms  in  the  Cemetery. 

8.  The  gates  are  opened  at  sunrise,  and  closed  at 
sunset. 

9.  No  money  is  to  be  paid  to  the  porter. 

10.  No  persons  are  admitted  on  Sundays  and  Holidays, 
excepting  Proprietors,  and  members  of  their  household, 
and  persons  accompanying  them. 

The  Superintendent  has  the  care  of  the  Cemetery, 
and  is  authorized  to  remove  all  who  violate  these  regu- 
lations, or  commit  trespasses.  Trespassers  are  also 
liable  to  be  fined  Jlfty  dollars. 


REGULATIONS  CONCERNING  INTERMENTS. 

The  key  of  the  receiving  tomb  under  Park  Street 
Church,  is  in  charge  of  S.  H.  He  we  s,  Esq.  Superinten- 
dent of  Burying  Grounds.     Office  at  City  Hall. 

Printed  forms  of  application  for  permission  to  de- 
posite  bodies  in  either  receiving  tomb,  or  in  any  lot, 
may  be  had  of  him,  or  of  the  Superintendent  of  the 
Cemetery,  at  the  cottage — without  which  no  interment  can 
he  made. 


SVORT'S   ADDRESS. 


JUDGE     STORY'S    ADDRESS. 


My  Friends  ! 

The  occasion,  which  brings  us  together,  has  much 
in  it  calculated  to  awaken  our  sensibilities,  and  cast  a 
solemnity  over  our  thoughts. 

We  are  met  to  consecrate  these  grounds  exclusively 
to  the  service  and  repose  of  the  dead. 

The  duty  is  not  new ;  for  it  has  been  performed  for 
countless  millions.  The  scenery  is  not  new;  for  the 
hill  and  the  valley,  the  still,  silent  dell,  and  the  deep 
forest,  have  often  been  devoted  to  the  same  pious 
purpose.  But  that,  which  must  always  give  it  a  peculiar 
interest,  is,  that  it  can  rarely  occur  except  at  distant 
intervals;  and,  whenever  it  does,  it  must  address  itself 
to  feelings  intelligible  to  all  nations,  and  common  to  all 
hearts. 

The  patriarchal  language  of  four  thousand  years  ago 
is  precisely  that  to  which  we  would  now  give  utterance. 
We  are  "  strangers  and  sojourners"  here.  We  have 
need  of  "  a  possession  of  a  burying-place,  that  we  may 
buiy  our  dead  out  of  our  sight."  Let  us  have  "  the 
field,  and  the  cave  which  is  therein ;  and  all  the  trees, 
that  are  in  the  field,  and  that  are  in  the  borders  round 
about ;"  and  let  them  "  be  made  sure  for  a  possession 
of  a  burying-place." 

It  is  the  duty  of  the  living  thus  to  provide  for  the 
dead.    It  is  not  a  mere  ofiice  of  pious  regard  for  others ; 


66  JUDGE   story's   address. 

but  it  comes  home  to  our  own  bosoms,  as  those  who 
are  soon  to  enter  upon  the  common  inheritance. 

If  there  are  any  feelings  of  our  nature,  not  bounded 
by  earth,  and  yet  stopping  short  of  the  skies,  which  are 
more  strong  and  more  universal  than  all  others,  they 
will  be  found  in  our  solicitude  as  to  the  time  and  place 
and  manner  of  our  death ;  in  the  desire  to  die  in  the 
arms  of  our  friends ;  to  have  the  last  sad  offices  to  our 
remains  performed  by  their  affection  ;  to  repose  in  the 
land  of  our  nativity ;  to  be  gathered  to  the  sepulchres 
of  our  fathers.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  us  to  feel, 
nay,  even  to  feign,  indifference  on  such  a  subject. 

Poetry  has  told  us  this  truth  in  lines  of  transcendant 
beauty  and  force,  which  find  a  response  in  every 
breast : — 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies ; 

Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries; 

E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

It  is  in  vain  that  Philosophy  has  informed  us,  that  the 
whole  earth  is  but  a  point  in  the  eyes  of  its  Creator, — 
nay,  of  his  own  creation ;  that,  wherever  we  are, — 
abroad  or  at  home, — on  the  restless  ocean,  or  the  solid 
land, — we  are  still  under  the  protection  of  His  provi- 
dence, and  safe,  as  it  were,  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 
It  is  in  vain  that  Religion  has  instructed  us,  that  we  are 


JUDGE   story's   address.  67 

but  dust,  and  to  dust  we  shall  return ; — that  whether  our 
remains  are  scattered  to  the  corners  of  the  earth,  or 
gathered  in  sacred  urns,  there  is  a  sure  and  certain  hope 
of  a  resurrection  of  the  body  and  a  life  everlasting. 
These  truths,  sublime  and  glorious  as  they  are,  leave 
untouched  the  feelings  of  which  I  have  spoken,  or, 
rather,  they  impart  to  them  a  more  enduring  reality. 
Dust  as  we  are,  the  frail  tenements  which  enclose  our 
spirits  but  for  a  season,  are  dear,  are  inexpressibly  dear 
to  us.  We  derive  solace,  nay,  pleasure,  from  the  reflec- 
tion, that  when  the  hour  of  separation  comes,  these 
earthly  remains  will  still  retain  the  tender  regard  of 
those  whom  we  leave  behind; — -that  the  spot,  where 
they  shall  lie,  will  be  remembered  with  a  fond  and 
soothing  reverence  ; — that  our  children  will  visit  it  in 
the  midst  of  their  sorrows ;  and  our  kindred  in  remote 
generations  feel  that  a  local  inspiration  hovers  round  it. 

Let  him  speak,  who  has  been  on  a  pilgrimage  of 
health  to  a  foreign  land.  Let  him  speak,  who  has 
watched  at  the  couch  of  a  dying  friend,  far  from  his 
chosen  home.  Let  him  speak,  who  has  committed  to 
the  bosom  of  the  deep,  vsdth  a  sudden,  startling  plunge, 
the  narrow  shroud  of  some  relative  or  companion. 
Let  such  speak,  and  they  will  tell  you,  that  there  is 
nothing  which  wrings  the  heart  of  the  dying, — -aye,  and 
of  the  surviving, — with  sharper  agony,  than  the  thought, 
that  they  are  to  sleep  their  last  sleep  in  the  land  of 
strangers,  or  in  the  unseen  depths  of  the  ocean. 

"  Bury  me  not,  I  pray  thee,"  said  the  patriarch  Jacob, 
"  buiy  me  not  in  Egypt :  but  I  will  lie  with  my  fathers. 
And  thou  shalt  carry  me  out  of  Egypt ;  and  bury  me  in 
their  burying-place." — "There  they  buried  Abraham 


G8  JUDGE    story's   address. 

and   Sarah    his  wife;   there   they  buried    Isaac   and 
Rebecca  his  wife  ;  and  there  I  buried  Leah." 

Such  are  the  natural  expressions  of  human  feehng, 
as  they  fall  from  the  lips  of  the  dying.  Such  are  the 
reminiscences  that  forever  crowd  on  the  confines  of 
the  passes  to  the  grave.  We  seek  again  to  have  our 
home  there  with  our  friends,  and  to  be  blest  by  a  com- 
munion with  them.  It  is  a  matter  of  instinct,  not  of 
reasoning.  It  is  a  spiritual  impulse,  which  supersedes 
belief,  and  disdains  question. 

But  it  is  not  chiefly  in  regard  to  the  feelings  belong- 
ing to  our  own  mortality,  however  sacred  and  natural, 
that  we  should  contemplate  the  establishment  of  reposi- 
tories of  this  sort.  There  are  higher  moral  purposes, 
and  more  affecting  considerations,  which  belong  to  the 
subject.  We  should  accustom  ourselves  to  view  them 
rather  as  means,  than  as  ends ;  rather  as  influences  to 
govern  human  conduct,  and  to  moderate  human  suflTer- 
ing,  than  as  cares  incident  to  a  selfish  foresight. 

It  is  to  the  living  mourner — to  the  parent,  weeping 
over  his  dear  dead  child — to  the  husband,  dwelling  in 
his  own  solitaiy  desolation — ^to  the  widow,  whose  heart 
is  broken  by  untimely  sorrow — to  the  fi-iend,  who 
misses  at  every  turn  the  presence  of  some  kindred 
spirit — it  is  to  these,  that  the  repositories  of  the  dead 
bring  home  thoughts  full  of  admonition,  of  instruction, 
and,  slowly  but  surely,  of  consolation  also.  They 
admonish  us,  by  their  very  silence,  of  our  own  frail  and 
transitory  being.  They  instruct  us  in  the  true  value  of 
life,  and  in  its  noble  purposes,  its  duties,  and  its  destina- 
tion. They  spread  around  us,  in  the  reminiscences  of  the 
past,  sources  of  pleasing,  though  melancholy  reflection. 


JUDGE   story's   address.  69 

We  dwell  with  pious  fondness  on  the  characters  and 
virtues  of  the  departed ;  and,  as  time  interposes  its 
growing  distances  between  us  and  them,  we  gather  up, 
with  more  solicitude,  the  broken  fragments  of  memory, 
and  weave,  as  it  were,  into  our  very  hearts,  the  threads 
of  their  history.  As  we  sit  down  by  their  graves,  we 
seem  to  hear  the  tones  of  their  affection,  whispering 
in  our  ears.  We  listen  to  the  voice  of  their  wisdom, 
speaking  in  the  depths  of  our  souls.  We  shed  our 
tears ;  but  they  are  no  longer  the  burning  tears  of  agony. 
They  relieve  our  drooping  spirits,  and  come  no  longer 
over  us  with  a  deathly  faintness.  We  return  to  the 
world,  and  we  feel  ourselves  purer,  and  better,  and 
wiser,  from  this  communion  with  the  dead. 

I  have  spoken  but  of  feelings  and  associations  com- 
mon to  all  ages,  and  all  generations  of  men — to  the 
rude  and  the  polished — to  the  barbarian  and  the  civil- 
ized— to  the  bond  and  the  free — to  the  inhabitant  of  the 
dreary  forests  of  the  north,  and  the  sultry  regions  of  the 
south — to  the  worshipper  of  the  sun,  and  the  worship- 
per of  idols — to  the  Heathen,  dwelling  in  the  darkness 
of  his  cold  mythology,  and  to  the  Christian,  rejoicing 
in  the  light  of  the  true  God.  Every  where  we  trace 
them  in  the  characteristic  remains  of  the  most  distant 
ages  and  nations,  and  as  far  back  as  human  history 
carries  its  traditionary  outlines.  They  are  found  in  the 
barrows,  and  cairns,  and  mounds  of  olden  times,  reared 
by  the  uninstructed  affection  of  savage  tribes:  and, 
every  where,  the  spots  seem  to  have  been  selected  with 
the  same  tender  regard  to  the  living  and  the  dead  ;  that 
the  magnificence  of  nature  might  administer  comfort 
to  human  sorrow,  and  incite  human  synmathy. 

y 


(" 


ITNIV 


70  JUDGE   story's  address. 

The  aboriginal  Germans  buried  their  dead  in  groves 
consecrated  by  their  priests.  The  Egyptians  gratified 
their  pride  and  soothed  their  grief,  by  interring  them  in 
their  Elysian  fields,  or  embalming  them  in  their  vast 
catacombs,  or  enclosing  them  in  their  stupendous  pyra- 
mids, the  wonder  of  all  succeeding  ages.  The  Hebrew^s 
w^atched  with  religious  care  over  their  places  of  burial. 
They  selected,  for  this  purpose,  ornamented  gardens, 
and  deep  forests,  and  fertile  valleys,  and  lofty  mountains ; 
and  they  still  designate  them  w^ith  a  sad  emphasis,  as 
the  "House  of  the  Living."  The  ancient  Asiatics 
lined  the  approaches  to  their  cities  vrith  sculptured 
sarcophagi,  and  mausoleums,  and  other  ornaments, 
embowered  in  shrubber}^',  traces  of  which  may  be  seen 
among  their  magnificent  ruins.  The  Greeks  exhausted 
the  resources  of  their  exquisite  art  in  adorning  the 
habitations  of  the  dead.  They  discouraged  interments 
w^ithin  the  limits  of  their  cities ;  and  consigned  their 
reliques  to  shady  groves,  in  the  neighborhood  of  mur- 
muring streams  and  mossy  fountains,  close  by  the 
favorite  resorts  of  those  who  were  engaged  in  the  study 
of  philosophy  and  nature,  and  called  them,  with  the 
elegant  expressiveness  of  their  own  beautiful  language. 
Cemeteries,*  or  "Places  of  Repose."  The  Romans, 
faithful  to  the  example  of  Greece,  erected  the  monu- 
ments to  the  dead  in  the  suburbs  of  the  Eternal  City, 
(as  they  proudly  denominated  it,)  on  the  sides  of  their 
spacious  roads,  in  the  midst  of  trees  and  ornamental 
walks,  and  ever- varying  flowers.  The  Appian  Way 
was  crowded  with  columns,  and  obelisks,  and  cenotaphs 

*  XoifureQia — literally,  places  of  sleep. 


JUDGE  story's  ADDRESS.  71 

to  the  memory  of  her  heroes  and  sages  ;  and,  at  eveiy 
turn,  the  short  but  touching  mscription  met  the  eye, — 
Siste,  Viator, — Pause,  Traveller, — inviting  at  once  to 
sympathy  and  thoughtfulness.  Even  the  humblest 
Roman  could  read  on  the  humblest  gravestone  the  kind 
offering — "May  the  earth  lie  lightly  on  these  remains  !"* 
And  the  Moslem  successors  of  the  emperors,  indifferent 
as  they  may  be  to  the  ordinary  exhibitions  of  the  fine 
arts,  place  their  burying-grounds  in  rural  retreats,  and 
embellish  them  with  studious  taste  as  a  religious  duty. 
The  cypress  is  planted  at  the  head  and  foot  of  every 
grave,  and  weaves  vrith  a  mournful  solemnity  over  it 
These  devoted  grounds  possess  an  inviolable  sanctity. 
The  ravages  of  war  never  reach  them ;  and  victoiy  and 
defeat  equally  respect  the  limits  of  their  domain.  So 
that  it  has  been  remarked,  with  equal  truth  and  beauty, 
that  while  the  cities  of  the  living  are  subject  to  all  the 
desolations  and  vicissitudes  incident  to  human  affairs, 
the  cities  of  the  dead  enjoy  an  undisturbed  repose, 
without  even  the  shadow  of  change. 

But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  facts  of  this  nature.  They 
demonstrate,  liowever,  the  truth,  of  which  I  have  spoken. 
They  do  more ;  they  furnish  reflections  suitable  for  our 
own  thoughts  on  the  present  occasion. 

If  this  tender  regard  for  the  dead  be  so  absolutely 
universal,  and  so  deeply  founded  in  human  affection, 
why  is  it  not  made  to  exert  a  more  profound  influence 
on  our  lives  ?  Why  do  we  not  enlist  it  with  more  per- 
suasive energy  in  the  cause  of  human  improvement  ? 
Why  do  we  not  enlarge  it  as  a  source  of  religious  con- 

^  ^'  Sit  tibi  terra  levis." 


72  JUDGE   story's  address. 

solation?  Why  do  we  not  make  it  a  more  efficient 
instrument  to  elevate  Ambition,  to  stimulate  Genius, 
and  to  dignify  Learning?  Why  do  we  not  connect 
it  indissolubly  with  associations,  which  charm  us  in 
Nature  and  engross  us  in  Art  ?  Why  do  we  not  dispel 
from  it  that  unlovely  gloom,  from  which  our  hearts 
turn  as  from  a  darkness  that  ensnares,  and  a  horror 
that  appalls  our  thoughts  ? 

To  many,  nay,  to  most  of  the  heathen,  the  burying- 
place  was  the  end  of  all  things.  They  indulged  no 
hope,  at  least  no  solid  hope,  of  any  future  intercourse 
or  re-union  with  their  friends.  The  farewell  at  the 
grave  was  a  long,  an  everlasting  farewell.  At  the 
moment,  when  they  breathed  it,  it  brought  to  their 
hearts  a  startling  sense  of  their  own  wretchedness. 
Yet,  when  the  first  tumults  of  anguish  were  passed, 
they  visited  the  spot,  and  strewed  flowers,  and  garlands, 
and  crowns  around  it,  to  assuage  their  grief,  and  nourish 
their  piety.  They  delighted  to  make  it  the  abode  of 
the  varying  beauties  of  Nature ;  to  give  it  attractions, 
which  should  invite  the  busy  and  the  thoughtful,  and 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  afford  ample  scope  for  the  secret 
indulgence  of  sorroAV. 

Why  should  not  Christians  imitate  such  examples  ? 
They  have  far  nobler  motives  to  cultivate  moral  senti- 
ments and  sensibilities  ;  to  make  cheerful  the  pathways 
to  the  grave ;  to  combine  with  deep  meditations  on 
human  mortality  the  sublime  consolations  of  religion. 
We  know,  indeed,  as  they  did  of  old,  that  "  man  goeth 
to  his  long  home,  and  the  mourners  go  about  the 
streets."  But  that  home  is  not  an  everlasting  home; 
and  the  mourners  may  not  weep  as  those,  who  are 


JUDGE   story's   address.  73 

without  hope.  What  is  the  grave  to  us,  but  a  thm 
barrier  dividing  Time  from  Eternity,  and  Earth  from 
Heaven  ?  What  is  it  but  "  the  appointed  place  of  ren- 
dezvous, where  all  the  travellers  on  hfe's  journey  meet" 
for  a  single  night  of  repose  ? — 

"  'T  is  but  a  night,  a  long  and  moonless  night, 
We  make  the  Grave  our  Bed,  and  then  are  gone." 

Know  we  not 

"  The  time  draws  on 

When  not  a  single  spot  of  burial  earth, 
Whether  on  land,  or  in  the  spacious  sea, 
But  must  give  up  its  long  committed  dust 
Inviolate  ?" — 

Why  then  should  we  darken  with  systematic  caution 
all  the  avenues  to  these  repositories  ?  Why  should  we 
deposit  the  remains  of  our  friends  in  loathsome  vaults, 
or  beneath  the  gloomy  crypts  and  cells  of  our  churches, 
where  the  human  foot  is  never  heard,  save  when  the 
sickly  taper  lights  some  new  guest  to  his  appointed 
apartment,  and  "  lets  fall  a  supernumeraiy  horror"  on 
the  passing  procession  ?  Why  should  we  measure  out 
a  narrow  portion  of  earth  for  our  graveyards  in  the 
midst  of  our  cities,  and  heap  the  dead  upon  each  other 
with  a  cold,  calculating  parsimony,  disturbing  their 
ashes,  and  wounding  the  sensibilities  of  the  living? 
Why  should  we  expose  our  buiying-grounds  to  the 
broad  glare  of  day,  to  the  unfeeling  gaze  of  the  idler,  to 
the  noisy  press  of  business,  to  the  discordant  shouts  of 
merriment,  or  to  the  baleful  visitations  of  the  dissolute  ? 
Why  should  we  bar  up  their  approaches  against  real 
5 


74  JUDGE   story's  address. 

mourners,  whose  delicacy  would  shrink  from  observa- 
tion, but  whose  tenderness  would  be  soothed  by  secret 
visits  to  the  grave,  and  holding  converse  there  with 
their  departed  joys  ?  Why  all  this  unnatural  restraint 
upon  our  sympathies  and  sorrows,  which  confines  the 
visit  to  the  grave  to  the  only  time  in  which  it  must  be 
utterly  useless — when  the  heart  is  bleeding  with  fresh 
anguish,  and  is  too  weak  to  feel,  and  too  desolate  to 
desire  consolation  ? 

It  is  painful  to  reflect,  that  the  Cemeteries  in  our 
cities,  crowded  on  all  sides  by  the  overhanging  habita- 
tions of  the  living,  are  walled  in  only  to  preserve  them 
from  violation,  and  that  in  our  countiy  towns  they 
are  left  in  a  sad,  neglected  state,  exposed  to  every  sort 
of  intrusion,  with  scarcely  a  tree  to  shelter  their  barren- 
ness, or  a  shrub  to  spread  a  grateful  shade  over  the 
new-made  hillock. 

These  things  were  not  always  so  among  Christians. 
They  are  not  worthy  of  us.  They  are  not  worthy  of 
Christianity  in  our  day.  There  is  much  in  these  things 
that  casts  a  just  reproach  upon  us  in  the  past.  There 
is  much  that  demands  for  the  future  a  more  sphitual 
discharge  of  our  duties. 

Our  Cemeteries  rightly  selected,  and  properly 
arranged,  may  be  made  subservient  to  some  of  the 
highest  purposes  of  religion  and  human  duty.  They 
may  preach  lessons,  to  which  none  may  refuse  to  listen, 
and  which  all,  that  live,  must  hear.  Truths  may  be 
there  felt  and  taught  in  the  silence  of  our  own  medita- 
tions, more  persuasive,  and  more  enduring,  than  ever 
flowed  from  human  lips.  The  grave  hath  a  voice  of 
eloquence,  nay,  of  superhmnan  eloquence,  which  speaks 


JUDGE  story's  address.  75 

at  once  to  the  thoughtlessness  of  the  rash,  and  the 
devotion  of  the  good ;  which  addresses  all  times,  and 
all  ages  and  all  sexes ;  which  tells  of  wisdom  to  the 
wise,  and  of  comfort  to  the  afflicted ;  which  warns  us 
of  our  follies  and  our  dangers ;  which  whispers  to  us 
in  accents  of  peace,  and  alarms  us  in  tones  of  terror ; 
which  steals  with  a  healing  balm  into  the  stricken  heart, 
and  lifts  up  and  supports  the  broken  spirit;  which 
awakens  a  new  enthusiasm  for  virtue,  and  disciplines 
us  for  its  severer  trials  and  duties ;  which  calls  up  the 
images  of  the  illustrious  dead,  with  an  animating 
presence  for  our  example  and  glory ;  and  which  de- 
mands of  us,  as  men,  as  patriots,  as  christians,  as  immor- 
tals, that  the  powers  given  by  God  should  be  devoted 
to  his  service,  and  the  minds  created  by  his  love,  should 
return  to  him  with  larger  capacities  for  virtuous  enjoy- 
ment, and  with  more  spiritual  and  intellectual  bright- 
ness. 

It  should  not  be  for  the  poor  purpose  of  gratifying 
our  vanity  or  pride,  that  we  should  erect  columns,  and 
obelisks,  and  monuments  to  the  dead  ;  but  that  we  may 
read  thereon  much  of  our  own  destiny  and  duty.  We 
know  that  man  is  the  creature  of  associations  and 
excitements.  Experience  may  instruct,  but  habit,  and 
appetite,  and  passion,  and  imagination,  will  exercise  a 
strong  dominion  over  him.  These  are  the  Fates  which 
weave  the  thread  of  his  character,  and  unravel  the 
mysteries  of  his  conduct.  The  truth,  which  strikes 
home,  must  not  only  have  the  approbation  of  his  reason, 
but  it  must  be  embodied  in  a  visible,  tangible,  practical 
form.    It  must  be  felt,  as  well  as  seen.    It  must  warm, 

as  well  as  convince. 

2# 


76  JUDGE  story's  address. 

It  was  a  saying  of  Themistocles,  that  the  trophies  of 
Mihiades  would  not  suffer  him  to  sleep.  The  feeling, 
thus  expressed,  has  a  deep  foundation  in  the  human 
mind  ;  and,  as  it  is  well  or  ill-directed,  it  will  cover  us 
with  shame,  or  exalt  us  to  glory.  The  deeds  of  the 
great  attract  but  a  cold  and  listless  admiration,  Avhen 
they  pass  in  historical  order  before  us  like  moving 
shadows.  It  is  the  trophy  and  the  monument,  which 
invest  them  with  a  substance  of  local  reality.  Who, 
that  has  stood  by  the  tomb  of  Washington  on  the  quiet 
Potomac,  has  not  felt  his  heart  more  pure,  his  wishes 
more  aspiring,  his  gratitude  more  warm,  and  his  love 
of  country  touched  by  a  holier  flame?  Who,  that 
should  see  erected  in  shades,  like  these,  even  a  ceno- 
taph to  the  memory  of  a  man  like  Buckminster,  that 
prodigy  of  early  genius,  would  not  feel  that  there  is  an 
excellence  over  which  death  hath  no  power,  but  which 
lives  on  through  all  time,  still  freshening  with  the  lapse 
of  ages  ? 

But  passing  from  those,  who  by  their  talents  and 
virtues  have  shed  lustre  on  the  annals  of  mankind,  to 
cases  of  mere  private  bereavement,  who,  that  should 
deposit  in  shades,  like  these,  the  remains  of  a  beloved 
friend,  would  not  feel  a  secret  pleasure  in  the  thought, 
that  the  simple  inscription  to  his  worth  would  receive 
the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh  from  thousands  of  kindred 
hearts  ?  That  the  stranger  and  the  traveller  would  lin- 
ger on  the  spot  with  a  feeling  of  reverence  ?  That  they, 
the  very  mourners  themselves,  when  they  should  revisit 
it,  would  find  there  the  verdant  sod,  and  the  fragrant 
flower,  and  the  breezy  shade  ?  That  they  might  there, 
unseen,  except  of  God,  offer  up  their  prayers,  or  indulge 


JUDGE  story's  address.  77 

the  luxury  of  grief  ?  That  they  might  there  realize,  in 
its  full  force,  the  affecting  beatitude  of  the  scriptures : 
"  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be  com- 
forted ?" 

Surely,  surely,  we  have  not  done  all  our  duty,  if  there 
yet  remains  a  single  incentive  to  human  virtue,  without 
its  due  play  in  the  action  of  life,  or  a  single  stream  of 
happiness,  which  has  not  been  made  to  flow  in  upon 
the  waters  of  affliction. 

Considerations  like  those  which  have  been  sug- 
gested, have  for  a  long  time  turned  the  thoughts  of 
many  distinguished  citizens  to  the  importance  of  some 
mol-e  appropriate  places  of  sepulture.  There  is  a 
growing  sense  in  the  community  of  the  inconveniences 
and  painful  associations,  not  to  speak  of  the  unhealthi- 
ness  of  interments,  beneath  our  churches.  The  tide, 
which  is  flowing  with  such  a  steady  and  widening 
current  into  the  narrow  peninsula  of  our  metropolis, 
not  only  forbids  the  enlargement  of  the  common  limits, 
but  admonishes  us  of  the  increasing  dangers  to  the 
ashes  of  the  (lead  from  its  disturbing  movements. 
Already  in  other  cities,  the  church-yards  are  closing 
against  the  admission  of  new  incumbents,  and  begin  to 
exhibit  the  sad  spectacle  of  promiscuous  ruins  and 
intermingled  graves. 

We  are,  therefore,  but  anticipating  at  the  present 
moment,  the  desires,  nay,  the  necessities  of  the  next 
generation.  We  are  but  exercising  a  decent  anxiety  to 
secure  an  inviolable  home  for  ourselves  and  our  pos- 
terity. We  are  but  inviting  our  children  and  their 
descendants,  to  what  the  Moravian  Brothers  have,  with 
such  exquisite  propriety,  designated  as  "  the  Field  of 
Peace."  3* 


78  JUDGE   story's  address. 

A  rural  Cemetery  seems  to  combine  in  itself  all  the 
advantages  which  can  be  proposed  to  gratify  human 
feelings,  or  tranquillize  human  fears  ;  to  secure  the  best 
religious  influences,  and  to  cherish  all  those  associa- 
tions which  cast  a  cheerful  light  over  the  darkness  of 
the  grave. 

And  what  spot  can  be  more  appropriate  than  this,  for 
such  a  purpose  ?  Nature  seems  to  point  it  out  with 
significant  energy,  as  the  favorite  retirement  of  the 
dead.  There  are  around  us  all  the  varied  features  of 
her  beauty  and  grandeur — the  forest-crowned  heights ; 
the  abrupt  acclivity ;  the  sheltered  valley ;  the  deep 
glen ;  the  glassy  glade  ;  and  the  silent  grove.  Here  are 
the  lofty  oak,  the  beach,  that  "  wreathes  its  old  fantastic 
roots  so  high,"  the  rustling  pine,  and  the  drooping  wil- 
low ; — the  tree,  that  sheds  its  pale  leaves  with  every 
autumn,  a  fit  emblem  of  our  own  transitoiy  bloom  ;  and 
the  evergreen,  with  its  perennial  shoots,  instructing  us 
that  "  the  winteiy  blast  of  death  kills  not  the  buds  of 
virtue."  Here  is  the  thick  shrubbery  to  protect  and 
conceal  the  new-made  grave ;  and  there  is  the  wild- 
flower  creeping  along  the  narrow  path,  and  planting  its 
seeds  in  the  upturned  earth.  All  around  us  there 
breathes  a  solemn  calm,  as  if  we  were  in  the  bosom  of 
a  wilderness,  broken  only  by  the  breeze  as  it  murmurs 
through  the  tops  of  the  forest,  or  by  the  notes  of  the 
warbler  pouring  forth  his  matin  or  his  evening  song. 

Ascend  but  a  few  steps,  and  what  a  change  of  scenery 
to  surprise  and  delight  us.  We  seem,  as  it  were  in  an 
instant,  to  pass  from  the  confines  of  death  to  the  bright 
and  balmy  regions  of  life.  Below  us  flows  the  winding 
Charles  with  its  rippling  current,  like  the  stream  of 
time  hastening  to  the  ocean  of  eternity.    In  the  dis- 


JUDGE  story's  address.  79 

tance,  the  city, — at  once  the  object  of  our  admiration 
and  our  love, — rears  its  proud  eminences,  its  ghttering 
spires,  its  lofty  towers,  its  graceftil  mansions,  its  curling 
smoke,  its  crowded  haunts  of  business  and  pleasure, 
which  speak  to  the  eye,  and  yet  leave  a  noiseless  lone- 
liness on  the  ear.  Again  we  turn,  and  the  walls  of  our 
venerable  University  rise  before  us,  with  many  a  recol- 
lection of  happy  days  passed  there  in  the  interchange 
of  study  and  friendship,  and  many  a  grateful  thought  of 
the  affluence  of  its  learning,  which  has  adorned  and 
nourished  the  literature  of  our  countiy.  Again  we 
turn,  and  the  cultivated  farm,  the  neat  cottage,  the 
village  church,  the  sparkling  lake,  the  rich  valley,  and 
the  distant  hills,  are  before  us  through  opening  vistas  ; 
and  we  breathe  amidst  the  fresh  and  varied  labors 
of  man. 

There  is,  therefore,  within  our  reach,  every  variety 
of  natural  and  artificial  scenery,  which  is  fitted  to 
awaken  emotions  of  the  highest  and  most  affecting 
character.  We  stand,  as  it  were,  upon  the  borders  of 
two  worlds ;  and  as  the  mood  of  our  minds  may  be, 
we  may  gather  lessons  of  profound  wisdom  by 
contrasting  the  one  with  the  other,  or  indulge  in  the 
dreams  of  hope  and  ambition,  or  solace  our  hearts  by 
melancholy  n  editations. 

Who  is  there,  that  in  the  contemplation  of  such  a 
scene,  is  not  ready  to  exclaim  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  poet, 

"  Mine  be  the  breezy  hill,  that  skirts  the  down, 
Where  a  green,  grassy  turf  is  all  I  crave, 

With  here  and  there  a  violet  bestrown, 

Fast  by  a  brook,  or  fountain's  murmuring  wave, 

And  many  an  evening  sun  shine  sweetly  on  my  grave  !" 


80  JUDGE  story's  address. 

And  we  are  met  here  to  consecrate  this  spot,  by 
these  solemn  ceremonies,  to  such  a  purpose.  The 
Legislature  of  this  Commonwealth,  with  a  parental 
foresight  has  clothed  the  Horticultural  Society  with 
authority  (if  I  may  use  its  own  language)  to  make  a 
perpetual  dedication  of  it,  as  a  Rural  Cemetery  or 
Burying-Ground,  and  to  plant  and  embellish  it  with 
shrubbery,  and  flowers,  and  trees,  and  walks,  and  other 
rural  ornaments.  And  I  stand  here  by  the  order  and 
in  behalf  of  this  Society,  to  declare  that,  by  these 
services,  it  is  to  be  deemed  henceforth  and  forever 
so  dedicated.  Mount  Auburn,  in  the  noblest  sense, 
belongs  no  longer  to  the  livmg,  but  to  the  dead  It  is  a 
sacred,  it  is  an  eternal  trust.  It  is  consecrated  ground. 
May  it  remain  forever  inviolate  ! 

What  a  multitude  of  thoughts  crowd  upon  the  mind 
in  the  contemplation  of  such  a  scene.  How  much  of 
the  future,  even  in  its  far  distant  reaches,  rises  before 
us  with  all  its  persuasive  realities.  Take  but  one  little 
narrow  space  of  time,  and  how  affecting  are  its  asso- 
ciations !  Within  the  flight  of  one  half  century,  how 
many  of  the  great,  the  good,  and  the  wise,  will  be  gath- 
ered here !  How  many  in  the  loveliness  of  infancy, 
the  beauty  of  youth,  the  vigor  of  manhood,  and  the 
maturity  of  age,  will  lie  down  here,  and  dwell  in  the 
bosom  of  their  mother  earth  !  The  rich  and  the  poor, 
the  gay  and  the  wretched,  the  favorites  of  thousands, 
and  the  forsaken  of  the  world,  the  stranger  in  his  soli- 
tary grave,  and  the  patriarch  surrounded  by  the  kindred 
of  a  long  lineage !  How  many  will  here  bury  their 
brightest  hopes,  or  blasted  expectations !  How  many 
bitter  tears  will  here  be  shed !  How  many  agonizing 
sighs  will  here  be    heaved  !    How  many  trembling 


JUDGE  story's  address.  81 

feet  will  cross  the  pathways,  and  returning,  leave  behind 
them  the  dearest  objects  of  their  reverence  or  their  love ! 
And  if  this  were  all,  sad  indeed,  and  funereal  would 
be  our  thoughts ;  gloomy,  indeed,  would  be  these 
shades,  and  desolate  these  prospects. 

But — thanks  be  to  God — the  evils,  which  he  permits, 
have  their  attendant  mercies,  and  are  blessings  in  dis- 
guise. The  bruised  reed  will  not  be  laid  utterly  pros- 
trate. The  wounded  heart  will  not  always  bleed.  The 
voice  of  consolation  will  spring  up  in  the  midst  of  the 
silence  of  these  regions  of  death.  The  mourner  will 
revisit  these  shades  with  a  secret,  though  melancholy 
pleasure.  The  hand  of  friendship  will  delight  to  cher- 
ish the  flowers,  and  the  shrubs,  that  fringe  the  lowly 
grave,  or  the  sculptured  monument.  The  earliest 
beams  of  the  morning  will  play  upon  these  summits 
with  a  refreshing  cheerfulness  ;  and  the  lingering  tints 
of  evening  hover  on  them  with  a  tranquillizing  glow. 
Spring  will  invite  thither  the  footsteps  of  the  young  by 
its  opening  foliage ;  and  Autumn  detain  the  contempla- 
tive by  its  latest  bloom.  The  votary  of  learning  and 
science  will  here  learn  to  elevate  his  genius  by  the 
holiest  studies.  The  devout  will  here  offer  up  the 
silent  tribute  of  pity,  or  the  prayer  of  gratitude.  The 
rivalries  of  the  world  will  here  drop  from  the  heart : 
the  spirit  of  forgiveness  will  gather  new  impulses  ;  the 
selfishness  of  avarice  will  be  checked ;  the  restlessness 
of  ambition  will  be  rebuked;  vanity  will  let  fall  its 
plumes  ;  and  pride,  as  it  sees  "  what  shadows  we  are,  and 
what  shadows  we  pursue,"  will  acknowledge  the  value 
of  virtue  as  far,  immeasurably  far,  beyond  that  of  fame. 

But  that,  which  will  be  ever  present,  pervading  these 
shades,  like  the  noon-day  sun,  and  shedding  cheerful- 


8Q  JUDGE   story's  address. 

ness  around,  is  the  consciousness,  the  irrepressible  con- 
sciousness, amidst  all  these  lessons  of  human  mortality, 
of  the  higher  truth,  that  we  are  beings,  not  of  time  but 
of  eternity — "  that  this  corruptible  must  put  on  incorrup- 
tion,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality" — that 
this  is  but  the  threshold  and  starting-point  of  an  exist- 
ence, compared  with  whose  duration  the  ocean  is  but  as 
a  drop,  nay  the  whole  creation  an  evanescent  quantity. 
Let  us  banish,  then,  the  thought,  that  this  is  to  be  the 
abode  of  a  gloom,  which  will  haunt  the  imagination 
by  its  terrors,  or  chill  the  heart  by  its  solitude.  Let  us 
cultivate  feelings  and  sentiments  more  worthy  of  our- 
selves, and  more  worthy  of  Christianity.  Here  let  us 
erect  the  memorials  of  our  love,  and  our  gratitude,  and 
our  glory.  Here  let  the  brave  repose,  who  have  died 
in  the  cause  of  their  country.  Here  let  the  statesman 
rest,  who  has  achieved  the  victories  of  peace,  not  less 
renowned  than  war.  Here  let  genius  find  a  home,  that 
has  sung  immortal  strains,  or  has  instructed  with  still 
diviner  eloquence.  Here  let  learning  and  science,  the 
votaries  of  inventive  art,  and  the  teacher  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  nature  come.  Here  let  youth  and  beauty, 
blighted  by  premature  decay,  drop,  like  tender  blos- 
soms, into  the  virgin  earth;  and  here  let  age  retire, 
ripened  for  the  harvest.  Above  all,  here  let  the  bene- 
factors of  mankind,  the  good,  the  merciful,  the  meek, 
the  pure  in  heart,  be  congregated ;  for  to  them  belongs 
an  undying  praise.  And  let  us  take  comfort,  nay,  let  us 
rejoice,  that  in  future  ages,  long  after  we  are  gathered 
to  the  generations  of  other  days,  thousands  of  kindling 
hearts  will  here  repeat  the  sublime  declaration, 
"  Blessed  are  the  dead,  that  die  in  the  Lord,  for  they 
rest  from  their  labors ;  and  their  works  do  follow  them." 


IMIOirUlMCXSZfTS. 


Probably  one  of  the  first  objects  of  the  stranger's 
attention  in  approaching  Mount  Auburn,  will  be  the 
Egyptian  gateway  at  the  principal  entrance.  Of  the 
design  of  this  we  have  spoken  before.  It  has  met  with 
general  favor ;  but  the  material  has  not  escaped  criti- 
cism. Many  persons  are  dissatisfied  with  even  a  good 
wooden  imitation  of  stone  ;  they  would  like  stone  itself 
much  better;  and  we  do  not  hesitate  to  adopt  that 
opinion.  For  certain  strictures  on  the  inscription  which 
will  be  noticed  over  the  porch  of  the  entrance,  we 
entertain  less  respect.  "  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to 
the  earth  as  it  was,  and  the  spirit  shall  return  to  God  who 
gave  ity"*  is  the  verse ; — a  selection,  we  need  not  remind 
the  reader,  from  the  Old  Testament,  and  a  happy  illus- 
tration, it  seems  to  us,  (as  has  been  remarked)  of  the 
fact  that  the  holy  men  of  old  were  no  strangers  to  the 
consolations  and  hopes  of  the  doctrine  of  the  soul's 
immortality.  It  has  been  said  that  the  inscription  has 
not  enough  in  it  of  that  cheerfulness  with  which  the 
christian  should  look  to  the  future,  and  which  the  gos- 
pel is  so  eminently  adapted  to  encourage.  It  appears 
to  us,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  import  of  these  words 
looks  obviously  enough  to  the  great  distinction,  that 
while  the  body  of  man  must  moulder  into  dust,  his  soul 
shall  survive  the  grave,  and  live  forever. 


84 


MONUMENTS. 


On  another  point,  the  author  of  an  elaborate  and 
beautiful  essay  in  one  of  our  quarterly  publications, 
throws  out  some  intimations,  respecting  the  justice  of 
which  there  may  be  various  opinions.  He  suggests 
that  the  appeai'ance  of  cultivated  flowers  in  the  enclo- 
sure is  not  at  first  entirely  in  keeping  with  the  associa- 
tions of  the  place,  Eveiy  thing  that  is  not  indigenous 
to  the  spot,  seems  as  though  it  must  be  of  an  unnatural 
or  sickly  nature.  There  may  be  some  reason,  he  says, 
for  placing  a  particular  flower  or  shrub  at  the  grave  of 
a  friend ;  but  the  rearing  of  flowers  for  mere  ornament, 
or  for  any  other  purpose  than  the  one  just  specified, 
seems  like  life  amidst  corruption,  or  the  intrusion  of  art 
amidst  the  wildness  of  nature.  Whatever  exception 
may  be  taken  to  these  strictures  by  any  admirers  of 
floral  cultivation,  controversy  respecting  it  may  well  be 
spared,  since  the  plan  of  any  considerable  or  conspicu- 
ous Botanical  establishment,  to  be  connected  with  the 
Cemetery,  (as  the  reader  of  the  history  of  Mount 
Auburn  will  have  noticed  ivas  the  design,)  has,  as  we 
understand,  been  long  since  abandoned. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  in  every  respect  of  the 
monuments  at  Mount  Auburn  will  be  likely  to  attract 
the  visitor's  notice — ^notwithstanding  the  charms  of 
sweet  little  G  rd  n  Pond  which  he  leaves  on  his  left — 
before  he  has  advanced  far  up  the  principal  avenue 
leading  from  the  gate- way  into  the  midst  of  the  grounds. 
This  is  the  tomb  of  Spurzheim  ; — an  elegant  but  plain 
oblong  sarcophagus,  erected  by  subscription,  and  bear- 
ing no  other  inscription  than  the  simple  name. 

The  location,  as  well  as  the  beauty  of  this  monument, 
is  well  adapted,  as  it  was  proper  it  should  be,  to  attract 


3    '- 


O 
d 


MONUMENTS.  O^ 

attention.  The  writer  whom  we  have  already  quoted 
thinks  there  is  also  something  in  its  situation,  between 
two  of  the  walks,  not  far  from  the  entrance,  to  excite 
in  the  minds  of  some  a  classic  recollection,  though 
more  perhaps  in  fancy  than  in  true  correspondence 
with  the  passage  in  question ; — ^referring  to  Virgil's 
Ninth  Eclogue,  59 — 

"  Hinc  adeo  media — est  nobis  xia  ;  namq ;  sepulchrum, 
Incipit  apparere  Bianoris." 

In  the  minds  of  few  observers,  however,  will  musings 
of  this  nature  be  uppermost  as  they  contemplate  the 
resting-place  of  the  remains  of  a  man  like  Spurzheim. 
All  who  have  made  themselves  acquainted,  even  super- 
ficially, with  the  character  and  career  of  this  distin- 
guished individual  will  feel,  at  the  sight  of  the  name  on 
the  marble,  a  mingled  emotion  of  admiration  and  sor- 
row. Whether  they  may  believe,  or  not,  in  the  theory 
of  which  he  was  the  advocate,  they  will  not  deny  him 
the  tribute  due  to  those  signal  virtues,  talents,  and 
labors,  whose  merit  was  in  no  degree  dependent  on 
either  the  soundness  or  success  of  the  system  to  which 
he  was  so  much  devoted.  Of  this,  various  opinions  are 
and  will  be  entertained,  but  not  of  his  professional 
accomplishments,  of  his  spirit  as  a  philosophical  en- 
quirer, or  his  excellencies  as  a  man.  Many  undisputed 
services  he  rendered  also  to  the  cause  of  science,  and 
to  that,  at  the  same  time,  of  humanity  at  large.  He 
gave,  for  example,  wherever  he  went,  a  fresh  impulse 
to  just  and  liberal  views  of  education,  and  of  the  vast 
importance  of  its  general  diffusion.  In  all  his  studies, 
in  all  his  pursuits,  he  aimed,  indeed,  at  the  utmost  good 


90  MONUMENTS. 

of  his  Species.  He  was  a  philanthropist,  no  less  than  a 
philosopher, — a  lover  of  his  race.  Truly  was  it  said  of 
him,  at  the  time  of  his  decease,  by  one  who  knew  him 
well — "There  was  one  thing  which  he  thought  most 
needful  for  us,  and  for  all  men  to  learn  and  study ;  and 
another,  which  of  all  things  he  deemed  the  most  im- 
portant to  accomplish  or  to  strive  after.  If  we  sum  up 
all  that  he  taught  us  of  the  harmony  and  variety  of  our 
physical  organization,  of  the  temperaments,  the  animal, 
intellectual,  and  moral  faculties,  was  not  all  this  instruc- 
tion given  for  a  single  object  to  teach  us,  or  rather, 
induce  us  to  study,  the  nature  of  man  ?  And  if  we 
think  over  all  he  taught  of  education,  of  natural  morality 
and  religion,  we  find  that  the  practical  end  of  all  his 
inquiries  was  the  improvement  and  happiness  of  man,^'* 

From  the  same  authority  we  learn  that,  being  ask- 
ed what  peculiar  effect  he  thought  his  system  had  had 
on  his  own  mind — he  said,  that  without  it  he  would 
have  been  a  misanthrope ;  that  the  knowledge  of  hu- 
man nature  had  taught  him  to  love,  respect  and  pity 
his  fellow-beings.  Those,  adds  this  writer,  who  attend- 
ed his  lectures  will  never  forget  how  his  countenance 
was  lighted  up  with  joy  whenever  he  spoke  of  a  trait 
of  kindness  evinced  by  any  being,  whether  he  was 
looking  up  at  the  noble  head  of  Oberlin,  or  pointing  at 
the  skull  of  a  little  dog  that  had  been  remarkable  for 
his  kindly  disposition  ;  and  how  the  light  of  his  coun- 
tenance suddenly  changed  into  darkness,  and  his  voice 
almost  failed  him,  when  with  averted  looks  and  hand 
he  pointed  at  the  portrait  of  the  man  who  murdered 
his  own  mother. 

That  this  kindliness  was  eminently  characteristic  of 


MONUMENTS.  91 

Spurzheim,  is  well  known  to  all  who  enjoyed  his  ac- 
quaintance. A  warm  and  wide-embracing  benevolence 
was  at  the  foundation  of  all  his  philosophy.  His  views 
were  intended  at  least  to  be  practically  useful.  Nor 
was  it  in  sentiment  alone  that  this  spirit  appeared. 
Spurzheim  was  not  one  of  those  philanthropists  whose 
goodness  evaporates  in  lectures, — who  satisfy  their 
consciences  and  their  hearts  by  talking  and  writing, 
and  gaining  some  reputation,  and  giving  an  impulse 
perhaps  to  other  men.  His  was  a  character  full  of 
energy  and  execution.  He  was  restless  to  do  the  good 
he  thought  of  and  talked  of  He  was  anxious  for  actual 
reform  wherever  it  was  needed,  and  willing  to  lead 
himself  in  the  work,  cost  what  it  might.  No  appeal, 
indeed,  of  any  description,  where  the  heart  was  con- 
berned,  was  ever  made  to  him  in  vain.  "  He  always," 
continues  his  biographer,  "  chose  for  himself,  in  pref- 
erence, the  performance  of  that  duty  which  required 
the  greater  effort  and  self-denial.  It  is  certainly  not 
going  too  far  if  we  say  that  his  anxious  desire  to  fulfil 
his  engagements  in  Boston  and  in  Cambridge,  was  the 
chief  cause  of  his  death.  Though  oppressed  by  indis- 
position, and  contrary  to  the  entreaties  of  his  medical 
friends,  he  continued  to  lecture ;  and  once  in  his  last 
sickness,  he  started  up  with  the  intention  to  dress  him- 
self, to  go  to  Cambridge.  All  who  have  attended  his 
course  remember  the  unwearied  kindness  with  which 
he  was  wont  to  hear  and  answer  any  question  that  was 
put  to  him  at  the  close  of  his  lecture  by  any  one  of  his 
hearers,  even  when  he  was  quite  exhausted."  It  is  an 
interesting  trait,  added  in  another  connection  to  this 
account  of  him,  that  he  never  would  allow  any  one 


93  MONUMENTS. 

who  was  truly  desirous  of  studying  his  system,  to  be 
exckided  from  his  lectures  by  poverty ;  and  was  always 
glad  in  such  a  case  to  give  tickets.  He  intrusted 
several  of  his  friends,  we  are  told,  with  a  number  of 
tickets  for  such  persons  as  they  knew  to  be  desirous 
of  studying  Phrenology,  and  too  poor  to  attend  his 
lectures;  and  he  added  the  special  request  that  their 
names  might  not  be  mentioned  to  him,  lest  their 
feelings  should  be  hurt  by  the  favor  he  had  bestowed. 

We  have  alluded  to  his  spirit  as  a  philosophical 
inquher.  In  this  respect  it  may  be  that  justice  is 
not  universally  rendered  him.  It  was  his  fortune  to 
encounter  prejudice  of  various  kinds.  Some,  who  gave 
him  credit  for  benevolent  intentions,  yet  considered 
him  almost  a  mono-maniac,  in  regard  to  phrenology  at 
least.  This  mistake  arose  from  ignorance.  Spurzheim 
was  an  enthusiast.  He  could  not  have  endured  or 
encountered  a  tithe  of  what  he  did  but  for  this.  A  sober 
enthusiast,  however  a  candid,  reasonable  enthusiast, 
he  certainly  was.  As  the  grand  end  he  aimed  at  was 
man's  good,  so  the  grand  means  to  that  end,  in  his 
estimate,  was  truth. 

In  one  of  his  works  he  proposes  the  question, 
*What  should  be  the  aim  of  eveiy  description  of 
study  ?'  He  answers,  '  The  establishment  of  truth,  and 
the  attainment  of  perfection ;'  and  he  quotes  the  saying 
of  Confucius,  '  Truth  is  the  law  of  heaven,  and  perfec- 
tion is  the  beginning  and  end  of  all  things.'  Dr.  Follen 
reminds  us  of  the  words  with  which  he  began  one 
of  his  lectures :  '  I  do  not  want  you  to  believe  what  I 
propose  to  you ;  I  only  want  you  to  hear  what  I  have 
to  say ;  and  then  go  into  the  world  and  see  and  judge 


MONUMENTS.  93 

for  yourselves  whether  it  be  true.  If  you  do  not  find 
it  true  to  nature,  have  done  with  phrenology ;  but  if  it 
be  true,  you  cannot  learn  it  one  minute  too  soon.' 

Of  the  particular  denominational  tenets  of  Spurz- 
heim  we  are  not  informed,  but  his  biographer  has 
much  to  say  of  the  general  religious  temper  of  his 
mind.  This  was  mfused,  too,  into  his  philosophy  as 
well  as  his  conduct.  We  are  told  that  the  great  aim  of 
all  his  inquiries  into  human  nature,  was,  to  search  out 
the  will  of  God  in  the  creation  of  man.  Obedience  to 
His  laws  he  considered  as  the  highest  wisdom,  and 
most  expansive  freedom.  Li  speaking  of  theories  of 
man's  invention,  he  remarked,  *  We  say  a  great  deal, 
and  we  think  we  do  a  great  deal ;  we  would  be  wise 
above  what  is  given,  and  work  upon  the  works  of  God ; 
but  it  is  all  nothing.  Thy  will  be  done  !  The  Father 
is  always  overlooked.  We  look  to  him  perhaps  amid 
great  trials  and  on  great  occasions ;  but  not  in  smaller 
things.  We  say,  "they  are  too  little."  It  is  this  in 
which  we  err.  Can  anything  that  concerns  his  chil- 
dren, be  too  little  for  a  Father  V 

It  is  in  every  way  characteristic  of  this  illustrious 
man  that  while  he  resided  in  Boston,  he  spent  a 
great  part  of  his  time  in  visiting  our  public  institutions, 
our  hospitals,  prisons,  house  of  industry,  churches, 
and  schools.  He  was  also  present  at  the  public  exhi- 
bitions of  our  university,  and  showed  a  hearty  interest 
in  every  effort  at  improvement,  in  individuals  and  in  the 
community.  His  heart  was  with  us  in  every  attempt 
at  improving  our  laws,  at  keeping  up  the  purity  of 
morals  in  the  community,  reforming  the  vicious,  raising 
the  condition  of  the  poor,  and  particularly  in  the 
2* 


94 


MONUMENTS. 


education  of  the  young,  in  which  he  was  desirous  of 
aiding  us  by  the  results  of  his  own  observation  and 
reflection.  At  the  same  time  "his  modesty  and  his 
habits  of  patient  investigation  prevented  him  from 
judging  hastily  of  what  he  noticed." 

We  have  been  led,  almost  inadvertently,  into  these 
sketches.  Tlie  subject  has  a  charm  in  it.  It  is  the 
contemplation  of  human  nature  in  its  best  estate.  If  any 
other  apology  than  tliis  were  necessary  for  such  a  tribute, 
the  reader  might  be  reminded  of  Spurzheim's  celebrity 
as  a  public  man.  Hence  no  little  curiosity  concerning 
him, — a  curiosity  not  always  gratified  by  an  impartial 
statement  of  facts.  Nor  can  we  forget  that  he  came 
among  us  an  advocate,  however  mistaken,  for  great  and 
sacred  interests.  In  these  he  labored^  To  these  he 
devoted  himself  as  a  victim.  We  are  told  that  the 
great  exertions  which  Dr.  Spurzheim  made  during  his 
residence  in  Boston,  proved  at  last  too  powerful  even 
for  his  strong  and  vigorous  constitution,  which  seemed 
more  energetic  in  proportion  to  his  labors,  while  it  was 
actually  sinking  under  them.  Besides  his  course  on  the 
anatomy  of  the  brain,  which  he  delivered  at  the  Medical 
School,  he  lectured  every  day,  alternately,  at  the  Boston 
Atheneeum,  and  at  Cambridge.  His  great  physical 
and  mental  eflfort  during  the  delivery  of  his  lectures, 
was  obvious  from  the  large  drops  that  rolled  down  his 
face,  forming  a  striking  contrast  with  the  easy,  calm, 
systematic,  persuasive  and  sportive  character  of  his 
deliveiy.  But  these  efl^orts  brought  on  an  exhaustion  of 
his  system,  which  was  rendered  dangerous  by  his 
frequent  rides  at  night,  when  returning  home  from  his 
lectures.     At  one  of  his  last  lectures  in  Boston  (the 


MONUMENTS.  ^*****Bac.  95 

beautiful  discourse  on  charity  and  mutual  forbearance) 
while  he  was  diffusing  light  and  warmth  among  his 
hearers,  he  was  seen  suddenly  shivering.  From  that 
time  his  illness  increased.  He  grew  more  feverish,  but 
he  continued  to  lecture,  contrary  to  the  entreaties  of 
his  friends,  saying,  that  he  would  not  disappoint  his 
hearers,  and  that  the  exertion  would  help  him  to  throw 
off  his  indisposition.  From  the  beginning  of  his  course 
the  number  of  his  hearers  had  been  continually  in- 
creasing with  every  lecture ;  at  last  he  exchanged  his 
lecture-room  at  the  Athenaeum  for  the  large  hall  in 
the  Temple.  He  had  finished  his  course  in  this  city 
with  the  exception  of  one ;  and  in  order  to  prevent 
any  uncertainty  with  regard  to  the  place  where  he  was 
to  give  his  concluding  lecture,  and  desirous  of  consult- 
ing the  wishes  of  his  hearers,  before  he  left  the  hail,  he 
inquired  of  them,  *  In  what  place  shall  we  meet  next 
time  .^'  He  knew  not  that  there  was  no  human  voice 
which  could  rightly  answer  that  question.  He  returned 
from  this  lecture  to  his  lodgings,not  to  leave  them  again.* 
And  so  Spurzheim  was  destined  to  end  here  his 
labors  and  his  life  together.  There  is  something 
touching  in  the  thought  of  his  situation: 

No  sacred  voice  of  Father-land, 
Like  home  familiar  sooth'd  his  bed. 
Nor  ancient  friend's  best  welcome  hand 

Raised  his  sick  head. 
From  the  bright  home  that  gave  him  birth, 
A  pilgrim  o'er  the  ocean  wave, 
He  came,  to  find  in  other  earth 

A  stranger's  grave. 

3*  *  Follen's  Eulogy. 


96  MONUMENTS. 

In  his  meridian  blaze  of  fame, 
With  mind  and  heart  and  courage  high, 
Man's  good  his  hope, — God's  praise  his  theme, — 
He  cajne  to  die  !* 

Such  was  the  character  of  this  early  and  most  cele- 
brated occupant  of  the  grounds  of  Mount  Auburn.  Of 
his  history  it  is  proper  to  add  something,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  such  of  our  readers  as  may  have  been 
less  familiar  with  it  than  the  inhabitants  of  this  vicinity 
are  presumed  to  be.  And  here  we  shall  still  be  indebted 
to  his  friend  and  countryman,  Dr.  Follen. 

Gaspar  Spurzheim  was  born  on  the  31st  of  Decem- 
ber, 1775,  at  Longvich,  a  village  near  the  city  of  Treves, 
on  the  Moselle,  in  the  lower  cuxle  of  the  Rhine,  now 
under  the  dominion  of  Prussia.  His  father  was  a  far- 
mer,— in  his  religious  persuasion,  a  Lutheran.  Young 
Spurzheim  received  his  classical  education  at  the 
college  of  Treves  ;  and  was  destined  by  his  friends  for 
the  profession  of  Theology.  In  consequence  of  the 
war  between  Germany  and  France,  in  1797,  the  stu- 
dents of  that  college  were  dispersed,  and  Spurzheim 
went  to  Vienna.  Here  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study 
of  medicine,  and  became  the  pupil,  and  subsequently  the 
associate  of  Dr.  Gall,  then  established  as  a  physician  at 
Vienna,  and  whose  attention  had  long  before  this  been 
deeply  engaged  in  the  investigation  of  what  was  after- 
wards commonly  known  as  Craniology,  or  the  doctrine 
of  the  skull : — one  of  the  later  improvements  of  Spurz- 
heim was  to  entitle  it  Phrenology,  or  the  doctrine  of 
the  mind. 

*  Limt. 


MONUMENTS.  97 

It  was  at  Vienna,  in  1800,  that  he  first  attended  a 
private  course  which  Dr.  Gall  had  repeated  during  the 
four  preceding  years,  in  order  to  explain  to  a  select 
audience  his  new  theory.  The  dissection  of  tlie  brain 
itself  still  remained  imperfect  until  1804,  when  Spurz- 
heim  became  his  associate,  and  undertook  especially 
the  anatomical  department.  From  that  time,  in  their 
public  as  well  as  private  demonstrations  of  the  brain, 
Spurzheim  always  made  tlie  dissections,  and  Gall 
explained  them  to  the  audience. 

The  great  interest  excited  by  these  lectures  roused 
the  fears  of  the  government  of  Austria ;  and  an  impe- 
rial decree,  which  prohibited  all  private  lectures  unless 
by  special  permission,  silenced  the  two  teachers,  and 
induced  them,  in  1805,  to  quit  Vienna.  They  travelled 
together  through  Germany,  explaining  their  discov- 
eries in  the  chief  universities  and  cities.  Their 
anatomical  demonstrations  were  regarded  with  much 
applause.  Their  peculiar  views  on  the  connection  of  the 
external  brain  with  the  character  met  with  many  oppo- 
nents. In  ]807,  they  began  lecturing  in  Paris,  and 
large  and  learned  audiences  sometimes  listened  to  their 
expositions.  Cuvier  is  said  to  have  received  their 
system  favorably  at  first,  but  to  have  been  afterwards 
swayed  by  the  haughtiness  of  the  First  Consul,  who 
had  seen  with  displeasure  that  the  French  Institute  had 
awarded  a  prize  medal  to  Sir  H.  Davy  for  his  galvanic 
experiments,  and  *at  a  levee  rated  the  wise  men  of  his 
land,  for  allowing  themselves  to  be  taught  chemistry 
by  an  Englishman,  and  anatomy  by  a  German.' 

In  Paris  the  two  lecturers  began  publishing.  They 
remained  in  that  city  until  1813.  The  next  year, 
Spurzheim  went  over  to  England,  and  thence  to  Scot- 


Vb  MONUMENTS. 

land,  lecturing  m  various  places,  London  included.  To 
Edinburg  he  devoted  seven  months,  the  Edinburg 
Review  having  come  out  very  strongly  against  him.  He 
procured  but  one  letter  of  introduction  for  that  city, 
that  was  to  the  reputed  author  of  the  essay.  He  visit- 
ed him,  and  obtained  permission  to  dissect  a  brain  in 
his  presence.  He  succeeded  in  convincing  some  of 
his  hearers  of  the  truth  of  the  results  of  his  researches. 
A  second  day  was  named.  The  room  was  crowded,  and 
the  result,  in  a  word,  was,  that  the  city  from  which  the 
anathema  had  issued  against  phrenology,  became  the 
principal  seat  of  it,  for  there,  in  1820,  a  phrenological 
society  was  formed,  (at  the  head  of  which  stands  Mr. 
G.  Combe,)  and  there  a  phrenological  journal  still 
continues  to  be  published. 

Spurzheim  returned,  in  1817,  to  London,  where  his 
doctrine  had  meanwhile  made  converts,  and  where 
he  was  chosen  Licentiate  of  the  Royal  College  of 
Physicians.  During  the  three  years  of  his  residence 
in  England,  he  published  several  works  on  Phrenology. 
He  then  returned  to  Paris,  and  resumed  his  medical 
practice  to  some  extent.  There  also  he  mamed  a  lady, 
who  deceased  only  a  year  or  two  previous  to  his  visit- 
ing America.  Meanwhile  his  publications  proceeded. 
He  also  visited  England  again,  and  then  Scotland,  in 
1828.  It  is  stated  that  in  London  (1826)  when  he  now 
lectured,  'not  only  the  large  lecture-room  of  the 
London  Institution,  but  all  the  staircases,  corridors,  and 
passages  leading  to  it,  were  filled  with  hearers.' 

It  was  in  1832  he  first  saw  America,  landing  in 
August,  at  New  York,  (during  the  prevalence  of  the 
cholera)  whence  he  came  on,  making  a  brief  stay  at 


MONUMENTS.  99 

New  Haven  on  the  way,  to  this  city,  with  which  he 
fek  already  famihar,  through  a  number  of  Bostonians, 
whom  he  had  become  acquainted  with  in  Europe.  He 
intended  to  stay  in  this  country  about  two  years,  to 
lecture  in  the  principal  towns,  then  to  visit  the  different 
tribes  of  our  Indians ;  and  at  last  to  return  to  Paris. 
How  these  plans  were  frustrated,  we  have  already  seen. 
He  died  November  10th,  1832,  in  his  56th  year. 

The  proceedings  in  relation  to  his  funeral  sufficiently 
indicate  the  estimation  in  which  his  character  was  held. 
On  the  day  following  his  decease  a  number  of  his 
friends  assembled  to  determine  what  honors  should  be 
rendered  him.  At  this  meeting,  the  Hon.  J.  Quincy, 
President  of  the  University,  in  the  chair,  it  was  voted, 
that  the  arrangement  of  the  funeral  obsequies  of  the 
deceased,  and  of  the  measures  proper  to  be  adopted  to 
express  a  sense  of  the  public  loss  by  the  death  of  Dr. 
Spurzheim,  and  the  respect  entertained  by  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  city  and  its  vicinity  for  his  talents  and  vir- 
tues, be  committed  to  the  Hon.  J.  Quincy,  Dr.  Nathaniel 
Bowditch,  Hon.  J.  Story,  Dr.  J.  Tuckerman,  Dr.  Follen, 
Professor  Barber,  Professor  Beck,  Dr.  William  Grigg, 
George  Bond  and  Charles  P.  Curtis,  Esqrs. 

Other  committees,  of  equal  respectability,  were 
appointed,  including  one,  consisting  of  Hon.  J.  Pickering 
and  three  other  learned  gentlemen,  to  whom  all  the 
papers  and  other  property  of  the  deceased  were 
entrusted.  On  the  17th  the  funeral  services  took  place 
at  Park  Street  Church,  and  a  Eulogy  was  delivered  by 
Dr.  Follen.  The  remains  of  Spurzheim  were  not  per- 
manently interred  on  this  occasion,  but  deposited  in  the 
"  Stra^igers  Tomb,"  (belonging  to  these  grounds,)  and 


100  MONUMENTS. 

the  following  order  taken  by  the  Committee  first  above 
named,  viz :  "  That  a  place  for  the  permanent  deposit 
of  the  body  of  Dr.  Spurzheim  be  prepared  at  Mount 
Auburn,  in  case  it  should  not  be  requested  to  be  sent 
to  Europe  by  his  friends  and  relatives ;  and  that  a  mon- 
ument be  erected  over  his  tomb ;  and  for  this  purpose 
that  a  subscription  be  opened  among  those  vi^ho  are 
vrilling  to  pay  this  tribute  to  his  memorj^"  Hence  the 
origin  of  the  monument  which  has  detained  us  so  long. 
We  may  add  that  the  Medical  Association  of  this  city 
voted  to  attend  the  funeral  obsequies  as  a  body,  and  at 
the  same  time  "  resolved,"  unanimously^  that,  "  we  view 
the  decease  of  Dr.  Spurzheim  and  the  termination  of 
his  labors,  as  a  calamity  to  mankind,  and  in  an  especial 
manner,  to  this  country." 

The  following  Ode  was  written  for  the  funeral  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Pierpont : — 

Stranger,  there  is  bending  o'er  thee 

Many  an  eye  with  sorrow  wet : 
All  our  stricken  hearts  deplore  thee  : 

Who,  that  knew  thee,  can  forget  ? 
Who  forget  what  thou  hast  spoken  ? 

Who,  thine  eye — thy  noble  frame  ? 
But,  that  golden  bowl  is  broken, 

In  the  greatness  of  thy  fame. 

Autumn's  leaves  shall  fall  and  wither 

On  the  spot  where  thou  shalt  rest ; 
'Tis  in  love  we  bear  thee  thither, 

To  thy  mourning  Mother's  breast. 
For  the  stores  of  science  brought  us, 

For  the  charm  thy  goodness  ga\re, 
For  the  lessons  thou  hast  taught  us, 

Can  we  give  thee  but  a  grave  ? 


MONUMENTS.  103 

Nature's  priest,  how  pure  and  fervent 

Was  thy  worship  at  her  shrine  ! 
Friend  of  man, — of  God  the  servant, 

Advocate  of  truths  divine, — 
Taught  and  charmed  as  by  no  other, 

We  have  been,  and  hoped  to  be ; 
But  while  waiting  round  thee.  Brother, 

For  thy  light — 'tis  dark  with  thee  ! — 

Dark  with  thee  ! — no  ;  thy  Creator, 

All  whose  creatures  and  whose  laws 
Thou  didst  love, — shall  give  thee  greater 

Light  than  earth's,  as  earth  withdraws. 
To  thy  God  thy  godlike  spirit 

Back  we  give,  in  filial  trust : 
Thy  cold  clay — we  grieve  to  bear  it 

To  its  chamber — but  we  must. 

In  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Spui*zheim's  tomb 
may  be  seen  the  monuments  of  "  Benjamin  Fiske,"  and 
"  Gedney  King,"  both  on  Central  Avenue,  but  before 
advancing  farther  in  this  direction,  the  visiter  will  prob- 
ably be  induced  to  turn  aside  a  moment  to  notice,  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  brink  of  Garden  Pond,  a  plain 
modest  sarcophagus  of  freestone,  with  the  name  of 
William  Gallagher  inscribed  on  it, — well  known  for 
a  long  period  in  Boston  and  its  vicinity  as  the  Landlord 
of  the  "  Howard  Street  House."  He  died  in  1834,  and 
this  monument  was  erected  over  his  remains  "  by  a 
few  friends  who,  although  connected  with  him  by  no 


104 


MONUMENTS. 


FISKE. 


GEDNEY  KING. 


MONUMENTS. 


ties  of  kindred,  knew,  loved,  and  honored  him," 
one  side  of  the  stone  we  read  these  hnes — 

"  Pause  in  thy  onward  way ;  one  resteth  here, 
Who  claims  the  simple  reverence  of  a  tear. 
Single  in  heart,  in  conduct  firm  and  pure, 
Direct  in  purpose,  in  affection  sure. 
He  graced,  what  few  can  grace,  a  humble  path ; — 
This  sod  his  body  holds,  but  God  his  spirit  hath." 


105 
On 


WILLIAM  GALLAGHER. 


This  monument  is  on  the  visiter's  left  as  he  walks  up 
Central  Avenue  from  the  gateway.  If  he  turn  aside  a 
short  distance  into  the  thin  woods  on  his  right, — a 
comparatively  sequestered,  but  highly  attractive  part  of 
the  grounds, — he  will  soon  find  himself  in  Green-briar 
Fath,    Here  stands  a  sarchophagus  niarkjed  with  the 


106  MONUMENTS. 

name  of  "  Curtis  "  and  not  far  from  this  it  is  under- 
stood a  memorial  is  about  being  erected  over  the 
remains  of  one,  the  late  sudden  termination  of  whose 
useful  career  demands  from  us  something  more  than  a 
passing  notice. 

James  Freeman  Curtis  was  born  in  Boston,  the  son 
of  a  merchant,  well  known  as  a  member  of  the  firm  of 
Loring  &  Curtis,  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  country. 
Educated  in  the  Latin  School  of  this  city,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  last  war  w  ith  England,  in  June,  1812,  being 
fourteen  years  of  age,  he  obtained  his  father's  consent 
to  enter  the  naval  service  of  the  United  States,  and 
made  his  first  voyage  as  a  Midshipman  on  board  the 
frigate  Chesapeake,  which  cruised  many  months  under 
the  command  of  Captain  Samuel  Evans.  In  June, 
1813,  the  frigate  sailed  again  from  Boston  under  a  new 
commander,  the  brave  but  unfortunate  Lawrence,  and 
was  captured  the  same  day  by  the  Shannon.  Mr. 
Curtis,  in  that  bloody  battle,  in  which  the  Captain,  first 
Lieutenant,  Master,  Boatswain,  Marine  Officer,  and  an 
acting  Lieutenant,  comprising  almost  all  the  deck- 
officers,  were  killed  or  wounded,  served  as  aid-de-camp 
to  the  Commander.  He  was  carried  to  Halifax,  and 
was  one  of  the  officers  selected  by  the  British  as  hosta- 
ges for  the  lives  of  certain  Englishmen  imprisoned  by 
our  Government.  Afterwards  he  served  as  Midship- 
man in  the  Constitution  when,  under  Commodore 
Stewart,  she  captured  in  the  same  action  the  frigate 
Cyane  and  the  Levant ;  he  was  sent  home  by  the  Com- 
modore second  in  command  of  the  Cyane,  and  arrived 
with  the  prize  at  New  York.  In  1815,  after  peace  with 
England,  he  joined  the  fleet  sent,  under  Decatur,  to 


MONUMENTS. 


107 


chastise  the  Algerines,  then  in  power  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean. His  next  service  of  importance  was  as  first 
Lieutenant  of  the  brig  Porpoise,  which  was  ordered  to 
the  West  Indies  to  protect  our  commerce  from  pirates. 
Mr.  Curtis  personally  destroyed,  by  leading  his  men  in 
boats  up  a  deep  lagoon  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  life, 
one  of  the  most  considerable  establishments  of  these 
miscreants.  After  these  duties  were  performed  he 
obtained  a  furlough,  and  made  several  voyages  to  India 
and  Europe  in  the  merchant-service,  during  which 
period,  as  captain  of  a  brig,  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  rescue 
the  lives  of  eight  fellow-beings,  left  in  the  midst  of  the 
Atlantic,  their  ship  having  foundered. 


CURTIS. 


108  MONUMENTS. 

Such  was  the  activity  of  the  youth  of  Curtis.  Nor 
was  it  less  signal  in  after  years,  though,  liaving  resigned 
his  commission  in  the  Navy  in  1824,  (at  the  time  of  his 
marriage)  it  displayed  itself  in  another  sphere  of  use- 
fulness and  duty.  His  fellow-citizens  were  familiar 
with  him  particularly  as  Superintendant  of  the 
Boston  and  Worcester  Rail  Road,  in  which  office  he 
remained  till  his  decease.* 

Somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Green-briar  Path,  it  is 
understood  that  a  monument  is  to  be  erected,  by  the 
subscriptions  of  friends,  to  the  memory  of  the  late 
lamented  Thomas  G.  Fessenden,  author  of  several 
popular  works,  and  for  many  years  Editor  of  the  New 
England  Farmer. 

Resuming  now  our  walk  up  Central  Avenue,  and 
passing  a  monument  which  bears  the  name  of  "  Still- 
man  Lothrop,"  we  come  to  a  handsome  white  marble 
column  on  the  left,  inscribed  thus  :  "  To  Hannah 
Adams,  Historian  of  the  Jews,  and  Reviewer  of  the 
Christian  Sects,  this  is  erected  by  her  Female  Friends. 
First  tenant  of  Mount  Auburn,  she  died  Dec.  15th, 
1831,  aged  76." 

On  Beech  Avenue  will  be  seen  a  monument  erected 
by  "  S.  F.  Coolidge,"  with  the  inscription,  "  The  gift 
of  God  is  eternal  life." 

On  the  same  Avenue  is  Dr.  J.  Bigelow's, — a  round 
unfinished  column  of  marble,  with  a  festoon  of  olive 
leaves  hung  about  it  near  the  top ;  and  farther  onward 
two  granite  obelisks,  with  the  names  of  "  Stone,"  and 
"  Stephens." 

^  This  sketch  is  founded  on  an  article  in  the  Daily 
Advertiser, 


MONUMENTS. 


109 


This  brings  us  to  Cedar  Avenue,  where  we  find  the 
name  of  "  Melzar  Dunbar "  on  one  stone,  and  that  of 
"  Lienow"  on  another, — the  latter  an  unfinished  column, 
like  Dr.  Bigelow's. 


STILLMAN  LOTHROP. 

"Peacefully  shaded  by  this  oak,  sleeps  Eliza  Ann 
Lothrop,  who  died  Dec.  7th,  1835,  in  the  19th  year  of 
her  age. 

Her  life  was  free  from  guile, 

Her  trust  was  in  Christ." 


On  Poplar  Avenue,  the  stranger's  eye  will  be  arrested 
by  the  monument  of  "  McLellan,"  railed  in  (as  are  many 
others)  with  an  elegant  iron  fence.  Among  the  names 
on  the  tablets,  each   side  of  the  door  of  the    tomb 

7 


MONUMENTS. 


Ill 


HANNAH    ADAMS. 


S.  F.  COOLIDGE. 


MONUMENTS. 


113 


DR.  BIGELOW. 


STONE. 


STEVENS. 


MONUMENTS. 


115 


M.   DUNBAR. 


MONUMENTS. 


117 


McLELLAN. 


beneath,  appears  that  of  Henry  Blake  McLellan,  who 
died  in  1833,  at  the  age  of  22,  to  which  the  inscription 
adds  that  he  was  "  graduated  at  Harvard  University  in 
1829,  commenced  the  study  of  divinity  at  Andover,  spent 
two  years  at  the  University  of  Edinburg,  and  on  the 
continent  of  Europe,  in  the  completion  of  his  Studies." 
He  returned  home,  but  a  fever  closed  his  life  in  three 
months  afterwards.  The  writer  of  the  article  on  Mount 
Auburn  (already  cited)  in  the  Quarterly  Observer,* 
alludes  to  him  in  these  feeling  terms  : — 

"  There  is  one  at  rest  in  his  tomb  in  this  enclosure, 

*  Generally  attributed  (there  can  be  no  impropriety  in 
saying)  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Adams,  of  the  Essex  Street  Church, 
in  Boston,  by  the  influence  of  whose  predecessor,  Mr. 
Green,  we  may  here  mention,  the  professional  career  of 
young  McLellan  was  in  no  small  measure  directed. 


118  MONUMENTS.  -» 

who  was  known  to  a  large  circle  of  friends,  and  whose 
bright  prospects  were  early  shut  in  by  death.  Having 
enjoyed  every  advantage  for  the  improvement  of  his 
mind,  and  of  preparation  for  future  usefulness  by  visit- 
ing foreign  lands,  he  returned  to  the  bosom  of  his 
family,  to  die.  He  came  forth  as  a  flower,  and  was  cut 
down.  Here  he  sleeps  in  the  neighborhood  of  that 
seminary  where  he  spent  four  of  the  most  important 
years  of  his  life,  and  in  which  he  formed  attachments 
of  peculiar  strength,  and  where  he  aft;erwards  loved  to 
come  and  in  the  spirit  of  faithfulness  and  affection 
converse  upon  subjects  which  had  assumed  an  infinite 
importance  in  his  mind.  Should  we  now  express  for 
him  the  feelings  of  anxiety  upon  the  subject  of  religion 
with  which  he  left  college,  his  convictions  that  he  had 
not  found  a  satisfactory  and  permanent  resting  place 
for  his  hopes  for  eternity,  and  his  subsequent  acquaint- 
ance with  evangelical  truth,  and  the  divine  Savior 
who  is  its  distinguished  glory  and  chief  corner  stone, 
we  should  write  upon  his  tomb, — 

*■'  I  was  a  stricken  deer  that  left  the  herd 
Long  since.     With  many  an  arrow  deep  infix'd 
My  panting  side  was  charg'd,  when  I  withdrew 
To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades. 
There  was  I  found  by  one,  who  had  himself 
Been  hurt  by  th'  archers.     In  his  side  he  bore, 
And  in  his  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts, 
He  drew  them  forth,  and  heal'd,  and  bade  me  live." 

The  author  of  the  Memoir  of  McLellan,  attached  to 
the  Journal  of  his   Travels  in    Europe,    which  was 


MONUMENTS.  1 19 

published  soon  after  his  decease,  states  that  not  long 
previous  to  leaving  this  country  he  wrote,  in  one  of  his 
letters,  the  follow^ing  passage  in  relation  to  the  Ceme- 
tery at  Mount  Auburn.  It  is  justly  remarked  that  the 
coincidence  of  that  passage  with  the  event  of  his  death 
was  certainly  striking  ;  ahd  that  the  sentences  possess  a 
peculiar  interest,  when  we  remember  that  he  himself 
was  the  first  member  of  the  family  laid  to  rest  in  that 
Rural  Cemetery,  and  that  there  he  is  now,  according  to 
his  own  wish,  "  sleeping  his  long,  cold  sleep." 

"  You  speak  of  the  Rural  Cemeteiy  at  Sweet  Auburn. 
I  am  pleased  with  the  project.  It  will  undoubtedly 
succeed.  I  am  happy  to  learn  that  father  contemplates 
taking  a  spot  there;  with  those  pleasant  places  my 
college  days  are  tenderly  connected,  and  I  would  love 
there  to  sleep  my  long,  cold  sleep.  To  such  a  place  there 
is  a  permanence  which  is  wanting  to  the  common 
church-yard;  the  bodies  there  deposited  rest  quietly 
forever  ;  besides,  to  such  a  spot  we  are  led  by  our  best 
sympathies,  to  shed  tears,  or  scatter  flowers.  I  am  glad 
too  that  my  dear  father  is  about  to  make  arrangements 
for  our  common  burial-place,  that,  as  we  have  been 
united  in  life,  we  may  not  be  separated  in  death." 

The  circumstances  of  McLellan's  brief  history,  and 
still  more  his  character,  possessed  such  interest  for  all 
Avho  knew  him,  that  we  feel  no  necessity  of  apologizing 
for  borrowing  from  the  memoir  mentioned  above  the 
following  lines,  relating  to  the  subject  of  this  sketch. 
The  reader  will  doubtless  trace  in  tjiem  the  pen  of  a 
writer  whose  productions  have  gained  for  him  no  little 
reputation : — 


120 


MONUMENTS. 


Soon  the  pale  scholar  learneth  that  the  star 
That  lured  him  onward  leadeth  to  the  grave  ; 
And  that  full  many  a  dull  and  sombre  stain, 
Is  with  life's  gayer  tissues  deep  inwrought. 
And  thou,  my  brother,  o'er  thy  human  lore 
Hast  ceased  to  cast  the  student's  thoughtful  eye  ! 
Thou  saw'st  the  sparkles  in  life's  golden  cup, 
And  fain  wouldst  of  its  various  sweets  have  quaffed, 
But  never  lived  to  taste  the  poison  of  the  draught. 

I  oft  have  sat,  at  that  still  hour,  when  slow 
From  her  dim  hall,  the  purple  twilight  came, 
And  shut  the  shadowy  landscape  from  the  view, 
To  mark  the  picture  thy  warm  fancy  drew 
Of  coming  life — its  triumphs  and  its  joys. 
Alas,  fond  dreamer,  all  thy  earthly  hopes 
Are  buried  low  beneath  the  church-yard  stone. 
The  crumbling  mould  is  now  thy  narrow  bed, 
And  the  tall  church-yard  tree  waves  mournfully  o'er  thy 
head. 

And  can  it  be  that  on  life's  flinty  way 
No  more  thy  happy  voice  shall  cheer  me  on  ! 
Yes,  the  kind  tones  are  smothered  in  the  grave ; 
The  gentle  heart  hath  ceased  fore'er  to  beat ; 
The  healthy  cheek  hath  lost  its  ruddy  bloom, 
And  the  pale  brow  hath  yet  a  paler  hue ; 
The  beaming  eye  is  darkened  in  decay  ; 
And  the  pure  breath  hath  left  its  mortal  frame, 
As  from  the  extinguished  hearth-stone  fails  the  living  flame! 

Thy  parents  hoped,  through  many  a  long  bright  year, 
To  walk  with  thee  adown  the  vale  of  time, 
And  from  thy  filial  love  support  receive  ; 
They  hoped,  around  the  cheerful  winter  fire. 


MONUMENTS.  121 

To  hear  thee  tell  thy  foreign  wanderings  o'er, 
By  Tweed's  green  shores,  and  down  the  golden  Rhine  ; 
They  hoped  to  hear  their  youthful  preacher  raise 
His  suppliant  voice  within  the  house  of  prayer, 
And  lead  unto  their  God  the  erring  sinners  there. 

I  lately  mused  beside  thy  peaceful  grave, 
In  Auburn's  sweet  and  consecrated  shades ; 
'T  was  Autumn,  and  a  mellow  sunset  cast 
Its  trembling  smile  along  the  golden  woods, 
And  silence  waved  her  tranquillizing  wing. 
There  rose  the  beech-tree  in  its  dying  pomp, 
The  maple  and  the  sumach  clad  in  gold. 
The  sycamore,  in  princely  garments  drest. 
And  the  pale  silvery  birch,  kissed  by  the  glowing  west. 

As  there  I  mused,  me  thought  how  fit  a  spot 
To  rest,  when  life's  brief  fitful  fever  ends  ! 
There  can  the  living  stand  with  chastened  minds, 
And,  in  the  vast  cathedral  of  the  woods, 
Pour  forth  their  sorrows  o'er  the  dead  around. 
As  the  dry  leaves  fell  thickly  round  my  feet, 
They  seemed  fit  emblems  of  man's  dying  lot ; 
And  solemn  thought  of  mortal's  common  doom 
Sank  deeply  in  my  heart,  beside  man's  silent  tomb  ! 

As  long  I  traced  the  tablet  o'er  thee  raised, 
The  big  tear  came  unbidden  to  mine  eye. 
And  thoughts  of  other  times  swept  o'er  my  mind. 
I  thought,  dear  Henry,  of  our  boyish  years. 
When  life  to  us  seemed  all  a  merry  day, 
— One  round  of  joy,  from  morn  till  closing  eve. 
Youth's  rosy  bloom,  and  childhood's  gay  delight, 
Each  careless  ramble,  and  each  rural  sport, 
Thronged  in  successive  crowds,  in  memory's  busy  court ! 


122  MONUMENTS. 

"  Friend  of  my  youth  !  with  thee  began  my  love 
For  sacred  song, — the  wont,  in  golden  dreams, 
'Mid  classic  realms  of  splendors  past,  to  rove 
O'er  haunted  steep,  and  by  immortal  streams," 
Now,  though  thy  mortal  harp  no  more  shall  sound, 
Nor  yield  response  to  my  fraternal  strain, 
Yet  sweet  the  thought,  that,  in  a  better  world, 
Thy  sainted  spirit  strikes  the  seraph  lyre 
In  worship  of  thy  God,  with  all  the  angelic  choir ! 

On  one  side  of  the  marble  which  has  led  to  this 
somew^hat  extended  notice,  is  an  inscription  "  To  the 
memory  of  a  much-loved  Father,  General  William  Hull, 
who  died  at  Newton,  Mass.,  Nov.  29,  1825,  aged  74 
years :  also  of  an  only  Brother,  Captain  Abraham  Fuller 
Hull,  who  fell  at  the  Battle  of  Bridge  water,  Lundy's 
Lane,  July  25,  1814,  aged  24  years." 

Before  leaving  Poplar  Avenue  the  monument  of 
"  Choate,"  surmounted  by  an  urn,  will  be  noticed.  In 
Oak  Avenue  we  find  that  of  "Prichard."  That  of 
"Martha  Ann  Fisher"  is  not  far  distant,  on  Willow 
Avenue, — bearing  the  inscription,  "  She  is  not  here — 
she  is  risen."  The  two  next,  on  the  same  Avenue, 
show  the  names  of  "  Williams"  and  "McLeod." 
On  the  latter  is  the  verse, 

"  She  pleased  God,  and  was  beloved  of  him, 
So  that  she  was  translated  ;  yea, 
Speedily  was  she  taken  away." 

And  an  inscription  follows  : — "  In  memory  of  Harriet 
D.  McLeod,  who  died  June  20th,  1834,  aged  19  years, 
this  monument  of  surviving  affection,  and  of  hopes 
long  cherished,  and  suddenly  destroyed  on  the  eve  of 


MONUMENTS. 


123 


CHOATE. 


PRICHARD. 


MONUMENTS. 


125 


MARTHA   ANN   FISHER. 


racLEOD. 


WHiLIAIKIS. 


MONUMENTS.  127 

their  fulfilment,  is  erected,  with  faith  in  God,  and 
submission  to  his  will,  by  her  nearest  friend : 

''  She  died,  and  left  to  me 
This  spot,  this  calm,  and  quiet  scene ; 
The  memory  of  what  has  been, 
And  never  more  will  be." 

Next  in  this  direction  will  be  seen  the  monuments 
inscribed  "Gushing"  and  "Thayer."  On  the  latter  is 
an  inscription  "  in  memory  of  Amasa  Thayer,  born  in 
Braintree,  March  26,  1764,  died  in  Antigua,  Oct.  18, 
1813;  and  of  Elizabeth,  his  widow,  born  in  Boston, 
May  5,  1760,  interred  here  May  23,  1834  :— 

They  meet 

To  part  no  more, 

And,  with  celestial  welcome,  greet, 

On  an  immortal  shore." 

Following  this  is  the  obelisk  of  "  Wyman  and  Howe," 
bearing  the  date  of  1834,  and  the  single  word,  round 
the  base,  '^  resurgemusJ'^ 

The  pannelled  monument  with  plinths,  which  we 
now  come  to,  will  suggest  many  reflections  similar  to 
those  awakened  by  one  already  noticed.  The  Observer 
calls  the  object  of  it  truly  "  a  young  man  of  talents  and 
great  promise."     The  inscription  reads  thus  : 

Edwin  Buckingham. 

Boston  Mechanics  placed  this  Cenotaph  here. 

Born,  1810;   died,  1833. 

'The  sea  his  body,  Heaven  his  spirit  holds.' 

8 


128  MONUMENTS. 

The  following  lines,  occasioned  by  the  decease  of 
Buckingham,  and  the  authorship  of  which  is  ascribed 
to  Mr.  Sprague,  appeared,  not  long  after  that  event, 
in  the  New  England  Magazine,  of  which  highly 
respectable  publication  he  was  a  proprietor,  as  well 
as  the  editor  of  it,  in  connection  with  his  father,  for 
several  years : — 

Spare  him  one  little  week,  Almighty  Power  ! 
Yield  to  his  Father's  house  his  dying  hour ; 
Once  more,  once  more  let  them,  who  held  him  dear, 
But  see  his  face,  his  faltering  voice  but  hear ; 
We  know,  alas  !  that  he  is  marked  for  death, 
But  let  his  Mother  watch  his  parting  breath : 
Oh  !  let  him  die  at  home  ! 

It  could  not  be  : 
At  midnight,  on  a  dark  and  stormy  sea. 
Far  from  his  kindred  and  his  native  land, 
His  pangs  unsootlied  by  tender  Woman's  hand, 
The  patient  victim  in  his  cabin  lay, 
And  meekly  breathed  his  blameless  life  away. 

*  *  *  * 

"  Wrapped  in  the  raiment  that  it  long  must  wear, 
His  body  to  the  deck  they  slowly  bear  : 
How  eloquent,  how  awful  in  its  power. 
The  silent  lecture  of  Death's  sabbath  hour  ! 
One  voice  that  silence  breaks — the  prayer  is  said, 
And  the  last  rite  man  pays  to  man  is  paid  : 
The  plashing  waters  mark  his  resting  place, 
And  fold  him  round  in  one  long,  cold  embrace  ; 
Bright  bubbles  for  a  moment  sparkle  o'er, 
Then  break,  to  be,  like  him,  beheld  no  more ; 


MONUMENTS. 


129 


GUSHING. 


THAYER. 


MONUMENTS. 


131 


WYMAN   AND    HOWE. 


EDWIN   BUCKINGHAM. 


MONUMENTS.  133 

Down,  countless  fathoms  down,  he  sinks  to  sleep, 
With  all  the  nameless  shapes  that  haunt  the  deep." 

M  «  «  « 

Rest,  Loved  One,  rest — beneath  the  billow's  swell, 
Where  tongue  ne'er  spoke,  where  sunlight  never  fell ; 
Rest — till  the  God  who  gave  thee  to  the  deep. 
Rouse  thee,  triumphant,  from  the  long,  long  sleep. 
And  You,  whose  hearts  are  bleeding,  who  deplore 
That  ye  must  see  the  Wanderer's  face  no  more, 
Weep — he  was  worthy  of  the  purest  grief ; 
Weep — in  such  sorrow  ye  shall  find  relief ; 
While  o'er  his  doom  the  bitter  tear  ye  shed, 
Memory  shall  trace  the  virtues  of  the  dead  ; 
These  cannot  die — for  you,  for  him  they  bloom, 
And  scatter  fragrance  round  his  ocean-tomb. 

"  Of  all  the  burying  places  for  the  dead,"  says  the 
writer  just  quoted,  "there  is  no  one  to  be  compared  to 
the  sea.  Such  multitudes  are  gathered  together  there, 
that  in  the  apostle's  vision  of  the  resurrection,  one  of 
its  scenes  could  not  fail  to  be  this :  *  And  the  sea  gave 
up  the  dead  which  were  in  it'  The  sea  is  the 
burying-place  of  the  old  world ;  to  them  have  been 
added  thousands  from  the  new,  out  of  evei*y  clime  and 
generation.  The  loss  of  a  friend  at  sea,  occasions 
peculiar  affliction,  not  only  because  of  the  separation 
from  the  sympathy  and  care  of  friends  in  the  trying 
hour,  but  because  the  imagination  is  left  to  picture 
distressing  events  attending  the  death  and  burial; — 
the  slowly  sinking  form ;  the  ship  that  had  paused  to 
leave  it  in  the  deep,  sailing  on;  the  under-currents 
taking  it  into  their  restless  courses,  till  perhaps  it  is 
brought  to  the  shores  of  its  own  home,  or  cast  upon 


134  MONUMENTS. 

the  rocks  of  a  foreign  land,  or  upon  some  lone  island, 
or  sunk  to  rest  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep,  ^  with  the 
earth  and  her  bars  about  it  forever.'  At  the  family 
tomb  and  the  frequented  grave,  sorrow  can  make  a 
definite  complaint;  but  to  weep  through  sleepless 
nights  when  the  storm  carries  the  accustomed  thoughts 
to  the  sea,  which  had  long  detained  the  expected 
friend,  and  now  is  known  to  have  his  form  somewhere 
in  its  unrelenting  holds,  is  affliction  that  receives  new 
poignancy  each  time  that  the  excited  imagination 
presents  a  new  image  of  distress  or  terror.  But  could 
we  divest  ourselves  of  the  natural  disposition  to  dwell 
upon  the  sad  associations  of  such  a  burial,  we  might 
feel  that  there  is  much  attending  it  to  awaken  sublime 
and  pious  emotions.  No  remains  seem  to  be  so 
peculiarly  in  the  care  of  God,  as  those  of  one  that  is 
buried  in  the  sea.  The  fact  that  *  no  man  knoweth  of 
his  sepulchre,'  leads  the  thoughts  directly  to  God  aa 
the  guardian  of  the  dead,  and  makes  us  feel  that  as  He 
only  knew  his  lying  down.  He  has  taken  him  into  his 
peculiar  protection.  *  The  sea  is  His ;'  its  graves  are 
all  before  him,  and  the  forms  which  sleep  there  are  as 
safe  for  the  resurrection,  as  any  that  repose  in  the 
monumental  tomb." 

On  the  marble  marked  with  the  name  of  "  Mason  " 
will  be  found  the  following  inscription  : — 

"  'I  am  the  resurrection,  and  the  life  ;  he  that  believeth 
in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live ;  and 
whosoever  liveth,  and  believeth  in  me,  shall  never  die.' 

Alfred  Mason,  born  March  24,  1804,  died  April  12, 
1828,  at  New  York.  His  remains  were  here  deposited 
Nov.,  1835. 


MONUMENTS.  135 

James  J.  Mason,  born  June  13,  1806,  married  Jan. 
22d,  1835,  died  June  13,  1835.  '  He  cometh  forth  like 
a  flower,  and  is  cut  down ;  he  fleeth  also  as  a  shadow, 
and  continueth  not.'  'I  know  that  he  shall  rise  again 
in  the  resurrection  at  the  last  day.' " 

The  monuments  of  "  Howard,"  and  of  "  Cooke  and 
Whitney,"  are  among  the  last  on  this  Avenue.  We  copy 
the  inscription  of  the  former,  though  long,  as  an 
interesting  illustration  of  a  class  of  family  memorials 
of  a  similar  description  : — 

"'We  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be 
changed.'  For  this  corruptible  must  put  on  incorrup- 
tion,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality. — 1  Cor., 
15  chap.,  51,  53  v. 

Here  are  deposited  the  remains  of  Elizabeth  Howard, 
wife  of  the  Rev.  Simeon  Howard,  D.  D.  She  died 
April  13,  1777,  aged  43  years  : 

Algernon  Sidney  Howard,  youngest  son  of  Simeon 
Howard,  D.  D.,  who  died  April  19,  1796,  aged  19  years : 

Simeon  Howard,  D.  D.,  who  died  Aug.  13,  1804, 
aged  71  years: 

John  Clarke  Howard,  M.  D.,  first  son  of  Simeon 
Howard,  D.  D.,  who  died  Aug.  11,  1810,  aged 36  years: 

Christiana  R.  S.  Howard,  youngest  daughter  of  John 
Clark  Howard,  who  died  May  27, 1812,  aged  14  months : 

James  Swan  Howard,  second  son  of  John  Clark 
Howard,  who  died  June  28,  1814,  aged  5  years : 

Hepsebah  Clark  Swan  Howard,  relict  of  John  Clark 
Howard,  who  died  Sept.  14,  1833,  aged  55  years." 

On  Locust  Avenue  the  stranger's  eye  will  be  attracted 
by  a  modest  column  of  free-stone,  surmounted  by  an 
urn,  and  bearing,  in  gold  letters,  an  inscription  to  the 


136  MONUMENTS. 

memory  of  one  with  whose  name  he  will  probably  be 
familiar.  Warren  Coleurn,  the  Arithmetician,  died 
in  1833,  at  the  age  of  forty.  "Simple  in  manners, 
guileless  in  heart,  educated  by  his  own  genius,  he  has 
left  to  the  world  a  new  avenue  to  mathematical 
science.  His  friends,  that  his  memory  may  be  honored, 
and  his  example  cherished  for  imitation,  have  erected 
this  monument." 

The  wide  circulation  of  the  standard  treatises  for 
schools,  particularly  those  on  Algebra  and  Arithmetic, 
produced  by  Mr.  Colburn,  renders  it  unnecessaiy  to  do 
more  than  allude  to  them.  At  the  same  time  it  is  but 
justice  to  mention  his  great  zeal  in  behalf  of  education 
at  large.  Many  important  improvements  in  machinery 
are  also  due  to  his  ingenuity  and  scientific  research, 
the  fruits  of  which  are  especially  visible  in  the 
manufacturing  establishments  of  Lowell,  where  he 
resided,  an  exceedingly  useful  and  highly  respected 
citizen,  about  ten  years.  It  is  doubtless  true  to  all 
practical  and  substantial  purposes,  as  stated  in  the 
inscription  above  quoted,  that  Mr.  Colburn  was  "  educa- 
ted by  his  genius."  It  may  be  proper  to  add,  however, 
that  he  was  graduated  at  Hai  /ard  College  in  1820.  His 
private  character  was  most  exemplary.  A  writer, 
about  the  time  of  his  decease,  remarked  of  him  justly, 
that  "  his  study  through  life  seemed  to  be  to  do  good." 

On  Locust  Avenue  a  handsome  sarcophagus  shows 
the  familiar  and  ancient  name  of  "Cheever."  The 
inscription  reads  thus  : — 

"Bartholomew  Cheever  was  born  in  Canterbuiy, 
County  of  Kent,  England,  in  1607 ;  came  to  America 
1637 ;  died  in  1693,  aged  86. 


MONUMENTS. 


137 


MASON. 


HOWARD. 


MONUMENTS. 


fl'M^ 


ulllii  iliiillll 


Sriii 


llfl  il   UiiRi 


Z  SlJzLiJZ!^^^ 


WHITNEY  AND  COOKE. 


WARREN   COLBURN. 


MONUMENTS.  141 

Pilgrim  Father,  one  of  a  handful  God  hath  multiplied 
into  a  nation! 

Richard,  Bartholomew,  Daniel,  William  Downs, 
Eleanor  and  Elizabeth,  who  now  likewise  rest  from 
their  labors,  were  of  the  generations  who  have  risen 
up  to  bless  thy  name.  Caleb  Davis  was  born  in 
Woodstock,  Conn.,  in  1739,  was  educated  a  merchant, 
resided  in  Boston  ;  died  July  6,  1797,  aged  58.  He  was 
Speaker  to  the  first  House  of  Representatives  under 
the  constitution  of  the  Commonwealth,  distinguished 
alike  for  piety  and  patriotism.  Eleanor  Cheever, 
daughter  of  William  Downs  Cheever  and  Elizabeth 
Edwards,  was  born  Feb.  1,  1749-50 — married  to  Caleb 
Davis,  Sept.  9,  1787 — died  Jan.  2,  1825,  aged  75  years. 
The  records  of  the  Boston  Female  Orphan  Asylum, 
tell  of  her  associated  labors  in  the  cause  of  suffering 
humanity." 

Not  far  from  the  tomb  of  the  Cheevers,  on  Mountain 
Avenue,  the  visiter  will  hardly  fail  to  notice  the 
beautiful  plain  cross,  of  white  marble,  which  bears  the 
name   of  "Swett." 

"  The  Strangers'  Tomb,"  already  mentioned,  appears 
on  Hawthorne  Path.  This  establishment,  belonging  to 
the  Proprietors  of  Tremont  House,  (Boston)  was  built  in 
1833,  for  the  interment  of  strangers  who  might  decease 
in  the  Hotel,  and  intended  as  a  place  of  either  permanent 
or  transient  deposit.  Its  construction  is  somewhat  pecu- 
liar. A  vault  is  dug  in  the  earth,  of  a  pentagonal 
shape,  on  one  side  of  which  are  the  steps  for  entrance, 
and  on  each  of  the  other  four  sides  are  three  rows  of 
horizontal  cells,  three  in  a  row,  one  above  another; 
making  thirty-six  cells  in  all,  radiating  from  the  centre. 


142  MONUMENTS. 

Each  cell  is  seven  feet  long,  two  feet  broad,  and 
eighteen  inches  high  at  the  aperture.  They  are 
composed  of  mica  slate,  and  calculated  to  contain  each 
one  coffin  of  an  adult  If  the  remains  are  permanently 
deposited,  the  aperture  of  the  cell  is  closed  with  a 
marble  tablet,  bearing  the  name,  &c.  of  the  deceased. 
A  pentagonal  building,  of  Quincy  granite,  about  six 
feet  high,  is  erected  over  this  spot. 

The  interments  in  this  tomb  have  been  those  of 
Sidney  Hayes  of  Smyrna,  deceased  October  20,  1832  ; 
and  Jasper  Macomb,  of  New  York,  an  officer  in  the 
United  States  Army,  deceased  December  15,  1833. 

On  Hawthorne  Path  also,  is  the  monument  of  "  Z.  B. 
Adams,"  and  not  far  from  this,  on  Jasmine  Path,  that  of 
"Hildreth,"  an  elegant  ornamented  sarcophagus,  sur- 
mounted by  a  cross.  On  Sweet-briar  Path  are  the  tomb 
and  obelisk  of  "  George  W.  Coffin,"  bearing  inscriptions 
to  the  Hon.  Peleg  Coffin,  who  died  in  1805,  and  to  his 
widow  who  died  in  1838,  at  the  age  of  81.  The  monu- 
ment of"  Andrews,"  an  oblong-square  sarcophagus,  will 
be  found  on  Hazel  Path  ;  and  in  the  same  neighborhood 
that  of  "  Hoffman,"  a  cenotaph,  with  an  inscription  as 
follows : 

"  In  memory  of  a  beloved  and  only  son.  Frederick 
William,  son  of  David  and  Mary  Hoffman,  of  Baltimore, 
Maryland. 

His  early  piety,  rare  talents,  great  industry,  gentle 
and  graceful  manners,  endeared  him  to  the  aged  and 
the  young.  His  studies  in  Harvard  University  were 
terminated  by  sudden  illness.  Accompanied  by  his 
parents  for  Italy,  he  died  at  Lyons,  France,  on  the  30th 
November,  1833,  aged  17  years." 


MONUMENTS. 


143 


CHEEVER. 


SWETT. 


MONUMENTS. 


145 


Z.  B.  ADAMS. 


HILDRETH. 


MONUMENTS. 


147 


GEORGE    W.   COFFIN. 


ANDREWS. 


MONUMENTS. 


149 


HOFFMAN. 


JOHN   HOOKER    ASHMUN. 


MONUMENTS.  15] 

His  remains  rest  in  the  vault  of  his  family,  in  his 
native  place. 

On  the  same  Avenue  a  handsome  vrhite  marble 
monument,  of  somewhat  peculiar  style,  is  marked  with 
the  well-known  name  of  "John  Hooker  Ashmun,"  a 
man  of  whom  much  might  be  said,  but  the  ample 
inscription  (ascribed  to  the  pen  of  the  late  lamented 
Charles  Chauncey  Emerson)  will  doubtless  be  deemed 
a  sufficient  notice : — 

"  Here  lies  the  body  of  John  Hooker  Ashmun,  Royal 
Professor  of  Law  in  Harvard  University,  who  was 
born  July  3,  1800,  and  died  April  1,  1833.  In  him  the 
science  of  Law  appeared  native  and  intuitive ;  he  went 
behind  precedents  to  principles:  and  books  were  his 
helpers,  never  his  masters.  There  was  the  beauty  of 
accuracy  in  his  understanding,  and  the  beauty  of 
uprightness  in  his  character.  Through  the  slow 
progress  of  the  disease  which  consumed  his  life,  he 
kept  unimpaired  his  kindness  of  temper,  and  superiority 
of  intellect.  He  did  more  sick,  than  others  in  health. 
He  was  fit  to  teach  at  an  age  when  common  men  are 
beginning  to  learn,  and  his  few  years  bore  the  fruit  of 
long  life.  A  lover  of  truth,  an  obeyer  of  duty,  a 
sincere  friend  and  a  wise  instructer. 

His  pupils  raise  this  stone  to  his  memory." 

On  Hazel  Path  also  will  be  seen  the  most  sumptuous 
and  costly  erection  in  the  Cemetery,  the  monument  of 
"  Samuel  Appleton,"  constructed,  in  fine  Italian  marble, 
after  the  beautiful  model  of  the  tomb  of  Scipio 
Africanus,  disinterred  some  years  since  at  Rome.  On 
Ivy  path,  most  of  those  who  see  the  name  of  "  Francis 
Stanton,"  on    a  plinth,  supporting  the  faustum  of  a 


152  MONUMENTS. 

column  and  an  urn,  will  scarcely  need  to  be  reminded 
of  his  virtues  even  by  these  few  lines: — 

"  An  upright  merchant,  a  useful  citizen,  a  valued 
friend,  died  July  30,  1835,  aged  50  years.  This 
monument  is  raised  by  his  associates  and  friends,  who 
knew  his  worth  and  cherish  his  memory." 

On  Vine  Path,  a  monument  bears  the  name  of  "  John 
Murray,  Preacher  of  the  Gospel:  born  in  Alton, 
England,  Dec.  10,  1741 ;  died  in  Boston,  Sept.  3,  1815 ; 
re-entombed  beneath  this  stone  June  8th,  1837. 

Erected  at  the  recommendation  of  the  United  States 
General  Convention  of  Universalists." 

On  Vine  Path  is  a  round  marble  supported  by  a 
square  pedestal.  The  name  inscribed  on  it,  will  call 
to  mind  another  of  that  multitude  who  have  been 
called  off  from  among  us  in  the  apparent  prime  at 
once  of  their  usefulness  and  their  promise.  The 
inscription  makes  record  only  of  one,  whose  decease 
has  been  said  to  have  hastened  his  own — that  of  his 
wife,  at  the  age  of  20  years ; — it  still  remains  that 
justice  be  rendered  to  Frederic  P.  Leverett.  As 
Superintending  Teacher,  for  many  years,  of  that 
important  institution,  the  Boston  Latin  School,  he 
gained  an  enviable  reputation,  and  deserved  it.  Still 
more,  perhaps,  his  memory  as  a  scholar  will  owe  to 
some  of  his  school-books.  His  Latin  Lexicon,  particu- 
larly, merits  a  place  among  the  first  class  of  works  of 
the  kind,  wheri^er  produced.  We  here  allude  to  it 
specially  the  rather  because  it  was  specially  charac- 
teristic of  the  author.  His  life  was  identified  with  this 
labor,  indeed,  in  a  sense  worthy  of  notice.  It  is  said 
that,  after  the  years  which  were  spent  in  its  preparation 


tn 


u 

H 

o 


/ 


MONUMEIVTS.  ■     ^NJV      155 


FRANCIS  STANTON. 


MURBAY. 


MONUMENTS.  157 

for  the  public  eye,  the  last  sheet  finally  went  to  press 
on  the  very  morning  of  Mr.  Leverett's  decease.  The 
established  standing  this  work  has  attained  throughout 
this  country,  and  in  the  highest  of  our  seminaries  of 
education  among  the  rest,  is  a  sufficient  evidence  of  its 
merit;  but  it  ought  to  be  added  that  it  has  done 
something  too — as  such  works  always  must  do — for 
American  scientific  and  literary  reputation  abroad. 
We  agree  with  one  of  our  principal  critical  authorities 
that  it  reflects  honor  not  only  on  the  persons  engaged 
in  its  preparation,  but  on  our  country;  and  that  we 
have  all  "  a  just  right  to  feel  proud  that  a  work  so 
learned,  so  correct,  so  elaborate,  is  the  result  of 
American  ability  and  industry,  and  American  enter- 
prise." "Wherever,"  adds  this  writer,  "  the  Latin 
language  is  studied,  and  the  English  language  spoken, 
it  will  be  received  with  grateful  acknowledgments." 
Thus  much  of  eulogy  on  a  book  will  be  excused,  by 
Bostonians  at  least,  for  it  is  in  fact  a  eulogy,  and  a  just 
one,  on  a  man ;  one  which  we  fear  there  will  not  be 
very  frequent  occasion  to  repeat  in  other  cases, 
renowned  as  Boston  is  for  its  treatises  for  schools,  for 
the  age  is  not  of  a  character  ofl;en  to  produce,  in  this 
department,  what  Leverett's  Lexicon  has  been  truly 
entitled,  "  a  monument  of  patient  toil." 

The  visiter,  in  full  view  of  the  beauties  of  "  Conse- 
cration Dell,"  will  probably  now  wander  into  Violet 
Path,  where  the  monument  of  "  Hicks  "  will  arrest  his 
attention ;  and  into  Alder  Path,  where  that  of 
"  Wetmore  "  appears. 

That  of  "J.  S.  Savage"  is  seen  also  in  this  last- 
named  direction  ;  and  then,  at  no  great  distance,  in  one 


158  MONUMENTS. 

of  the  loveliest  situations  which  the  grounds  afford, 
the  beautiful  column  marked  ^vith  the  name  of 
"  Story  ;" — a  name  never  to  be  mentioned  Vi^ithout 
honor,  but  especially  noticeable  to  those  w^ho  have 
taken  a  deep  interest  in  the  designing  and  decoration 
of  this  Cemetery  from  its  first  beginning  to  the  present 
day.     The  inscription  on  this  marble  runs  thus : — 

"  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
Caroline,  born  June,  1810,  died  Februaiy,  1811. 
Joseph,  born  June,  1811,  died  October,  1815. 
Caroline,  born  April,  1813,  died  April,  1819. 
Mary,  born  April,  1814,  died  March,  1815. 
Louisa,  born  May,  1821,  died  May,  1831." 

No  comment  can  add  anything  to  the  sad  impres- 
siveness  of  the  tale  these  lines  disclose,  all  simple  as 
they  are,  did  the  delicacy  of  the  subject  admit  of  our 
attempting  to  make  any.  We  adopt,  as  an  expression 
more  suitable  in  eveiy  point  of  view,  the  "  Lines  on 
the  Death  of  a  Daughter,"  which  appeared  not  far  from 
the  date  last  above  mentioned,  and  have  since  been 
embodied  with  the  miscellaneous  works  of  the 
distinguished  author : — 

"  Farewell,  my  darling  child,  a  sad  farewell  ! 
Thou  art  gone  from  earth,  in  heavenly  scenes  to  dwell ; 
For  sure,  if  ever  being,  formed  from  dust, 
Might  hope  for  bliss,  thine  is  that  holy  trust. 
Spotless  and  pure,  from  God  thy  spirit  came ; 
Spotless  it  has  returned,  a  brighter  flame. 
Thy  last,  soft  prayer  was  heard — No  more  to  roam ; 


159 


LEVERETT. 


HICKS. 


k 


MONUMENTS. 


163 


WETMORE. 


M^^ 


SAVAGE. 


MONUMENTS. 


165 


MONUMENTS.  167 

Thou  art,  ('twas  all  thy  wish,)  thou  art  gone  home.* 

Ours  are  the  loss,  and  agonizing  grief, 

The  slow,  dead  hours,  the  sighs  without  relief, 

The  lingering  nights,  the  thoughts  of  pleasure  past. 

Memory,  that  wounds,  and  darkens,  to  the  last. 

How  desolate  the  space,  how  deep  the  line. 

That  part  our  hopes,  our  fates,  our  paths,  from  thine  ! 

We  tread  with  faltering  steps  the  shadowy  shore ; 

Thou  art  at  rest,  where  storms  can  vex  no  more. 

When  shall  we  meet  again,  and  kiss  away 

The  tears  of  joy  in  one  eternal  day  ? 

Most  lovely  thou  !  in  beauty's  rarest  truth  ! 
A  cherub's  face  ;  the  breathing  blush  of  youth  ; 
A  smile  more  sweet  than  seemed  to  mortal  given ; 
An  eye  that  spoke,  and  beamed  the  light  of  heaven  ; 
A  temper,  like  the  balmy  summer  sky. 
That  soothes,  and  warms,  and  cheers,  when  life  beats  high ; 
A  bounding  spirit,  which,  in  sportive  chase, 
Gave,  as  it  moved,  a  fresh  and  varying  grace  ; 
A  voice,  whose  music  warbled  notes  of  mirth, 
Its  tones  unearthly,  or  scarce  formed  for  earth ; 
A  mind,  which  kindled  with  each  passing  thought, 
And  gathered  treasures,  when  they  least  were  sought ; — 
These  were  thy  bright  attractions  ;  these  had  power 
To  spread  a  nameless  charm  o'er  every  hour. 
But  that,  which,  more  than  all,  could  bliss  impart, 
Was  thy  warm  love,  thy  tender,  buoyant  heart. 
Thy  ceaseless  flow  of  feeling,  like  the  rill, 
That  fills  its  sunny  banks,  and  deepens  still. 
Thy  chief  delight  to  fix  thy  parents'  gaze. 
Win  their  fond  kiss,  or  gain  their  modest  praise. 

*  The  last  words,  uttered  but  a  few  moments  before  her 
death,  were,  '*  I  want  to  go  home." 


168  MONUMENTS. 

When  sickness  came,  though  short,  and  hurried  o'er, 
It  made  thee  more  an  angel  than  before. 
How  patient,  tender,  gentle,  though  disease 
Preyed  on  thy  life  ! — how  anxious  still  to  please  ! 
How  oft  around  thy  mother's  neck  entwined 
Thy  arms  were  folded,  as  to  Heaven  resigned  ! 
How  oft  thy  kisses  on  her  pallid  cheek 
Spoke  all  thy  love,  as  language  ne'er  could  speak  ! 
E'en  the  last  whisper  of  thy  parting  breath 
Asked,  and  received,  a  mother's  kiss,  in  death. 

But  oh  !  how  vain,  by  art,  or  words,  to  tell, 
What  ne'er  was  told, — affection's  magic  spell  ! 
More  vain  to  tell  that  sorrow  of  the  soul, 
That  works  in  secret,  works  beyOnd  control, 
When  death  strikes  down,  with  sudden  crush  and  power, 
Parental  hope,  and  blasts  its  opening  flower. 
Most  vain  to  tell,  how  deep  that  long  despair, 
Which  time  ne'er  heals,  which  time  can  scarce  impair. 

Yet  still  I  love  to  linger  on  the  strain — 
'Tis  grief's  sad  privilege.     When  we  complain, 
Our  hearts  are  eased  of  burdens  hard  to  bear ; 
We  mourn  our  loss,  and  feel  a  comfort  there. 

My  child,  my  darling  child,  how  oft  with  thee 
Have  I  passed  hours  of  blameless  ecstasy  ! 
How  oft  have  wandered,  oft  have  paused  to  hear 
Thy  playful  thoughts  fall  sweetly  on  my  ear  ! 
How  oft  have  caught  a  hint  beyond  thy  age, 
Fit  to  instruct  the  wise,  or  charm  the  sage  ! 
How  oft,  with  pure  delight,  have  turned  to  see 
Thy  beauty  felt  by  all,  except  by  thee ; 
Thy  modest  kindness,  and  thy  searching  glance  ; 
Thy  eager  movements,  and  thy  graceful  dance ; 


MONUMENTS.  169 

And,  while  I  gazed  with  all  a  father's  pride, 
Concealed  a  joy,  worth  all  on  earth  beside  ! 

How  changed  the  scene  !  In  every  favorite  walk 
I  miss  thy  flying  steps,  thy  artless  talk ) 
Where'er  I  turn,  I  feel  thee  ever  near ; 
Some  frail  memorial  comes,  some  image  dear. 
Each  spot  still  breathes  of  thee — each  garden  flower 
Tells  of  the  past,  in  sunshine,  or  in  shower; 
And,  here  the  chair,  and,  there  the  sofa  stands, 
Pressed  by  thy  form,  or  polished  by  thy  hands. 
My  home,  how  full  of  thee  ! — But  where  art  thou  .? 
Gone,  like  the  sunbeam  from  the  mountains  brow ; 
But,  unlike  that,  once  passed  the  fated  bourn. 
Bright  beam  of  heaven,  thou  never  shalt  return. 
Yet,  yet,  it  soothes  my  heart  on  thee  to  dwell ; 
Louisa  ,darling  child,  farewell,  farewell  !" 

In  the  close  vicinity  of  Forest  Pond,  another  of  the 
most  charming  of  those  ornaments  which  it  w^ould 
seem  nature  had  provided  w^ith  express  reference  to 
the  present  use  of  these  grounds,  will  be  noticed  a 
simple  Egyptian  pedestal,  surmounted  by  a  short 
obelisk,  erected  by  Mr.  "  Faxon ;"  and  beyond  this  a 
monument,  the  taste  of  which  is  attributable  to 
Professor  "  Webster,"  whose  name  it  shows,  together 
with  the  following  records  : — 

"John  R.  Webster,  obt.  1820,  aged  18  months. 

Harriet  W.  Webster,  obt.  1833,  aged  10  years. 

Grant  Webster,  obt.  1797,  aged  80. 

John  White,  obt.  1805,  aged  80. 

Sarah  White,  obt.  1807,  aged  11, 

Elizabeth  Davis,  obt.  1812,  aged  IQ, 

Redford  Webster,  obt.  1833,  aged  72. 

Hannah  Webster,  obt.  1833,  aged  ^i:"" 


170  MONUMENTS. 

The  next  monument  we  come  to,  a  plain  free-stone 
pedestal,  surmounted  by  an  urn,  belongs  to  a  class  of 
which  we  have  already  noticed  several  interesting 
specimens — those  erected  by  the  subscription  of 
friends.  They  naturally  lead  us  to  look  for  something 
of  rather  special  interest  in  the  character  of  the 
subjects  of  such  attentions ;  and  the  case  before  us  is 
one  in  which  those  to  whom  the  name  of  Clement 
DuRGiN  has  been  familiar  will  be  by  no  means  disap- 
pointed in  this  expectation.  The  inscription  speaks 
for  itself : — 

"  Associate  Principal  of  Chauncey  Hall  School, 
Boston,  born  Sept.  29,  1802,  died  Sept.  30,  1833. 

A  student  and  lover  of  nature,  in  her  wonders  he 
saw  and  acknowledged,  and  through  them  adored,  her 
beneficent  Author.  His  life  was  a  beautiful  illustration 
of  his  philosophy ;  his  death  of  the  triumph  of  his 
Faith.  His  pupils  have  reared  this  monument  as  an 
imperfect  memorial  of  their  grateful  affection  and 
respect." 

Passing,  not  far  from  this  monument,  one  which 
bears  the  name  of  "  Thaxter,"  and  another,  on  Indian 
Ridge  Path,  marked  with  that  of  "  Williams,"  we  come 
in  the  same  direction  to  Mr.  Bond's,  an  obelisk 
distinguished  at  once  by  its  elegance  and  its  simplicity. 
No  chisel  has  yet  disturbed  the  marble's  surface,  else 
might  one  perhaps  exclaim  with  the  poetess, 

There  is  a  name  upon  the  stone  ; 

Alas  !  and  can  it  be  the  same — 
The  young,  the  lovely,  and  the  loved  ? 

It  is  too  soon  to  hear  thy  name^ 
Too  soon! 


MONUMENTS.  173 

"  We  would  avoid,"  says  the  writer  for  the  Quarterly 
Observer,  cited  so  often,  "  even  an  apparent  intrusion 
upon  the  privacy  of  grief,  but  cannot  forbear  to  speak 
of  one  who  has  found  a  grave  in  this  enclosure,  whose 
person  and  accomplishments  and  amiable  character, 
and  her  endeared  relation  to  a  large  circle  of  acquaint- 
ances and  friends,  together  with  her  opening  prospects 
of  life  and  happiness,  made  her  lamented  even  by  those 
who  were  comparatively  strangers.  Some  of  the 
circumstances  attending  the  close  of  her  life,  well 
known  to  many  who  did  not  need  relationship  or 
intimacy  to  make  them  exquisitely  touching,  gave  an 
affecting  interest  to  the  event.  Her  sudden  and 
mournful  removal  was  like  tearing  out  a  slender  but 
far-spreading  tendril  that  had  wound  itself  about 
beneath  a  deep  and  rich  vine  on  the  side  of  a  dwelling, 
and  leaving,  as  it  came  away,  its  place  of  repose 
disfigured  and  torn  beyond  the  help  of  future  suns  and 
showers.  It  seems  sometimes  that  death  is  commis- 
sioned to  seek  out  a  victim  whose  departure,  more 
than  that  of  any  other,  will  mock  at  the  sympathies 
and  endearments  which  make  dying  seem,  for  a  season 
at  least,  impossible.  How  like  a  ruthless  enemy,  glad, 
if  the  sufferings  which  he  can  occasion  may  be 
aggravated  by  private  and  peculiar  circumstances,  does 
the  last  enemy  frequently  appear !" 

The  next  stone  we  shall  notice  would  appear  to  be 
the  joint  property  of  "Fairfield"  and  "Wadsworth," 
both  which  names  it  shows.  Beyond  this,  on  Indian 
Ridge  Path,  are  those  erected  by  "  Nathaniel  Francis," 
"Greenleaf,"  and  "Martin  Brimmer."  In  the  same 
neighborhood  we  find  also  one  raised  to  the  memory 


174 


MONUMEJNTS. 


of  David  Patterson,  a  young  merchant  of  Boston, 
who  died  at  sea  in  1834  : — 

"  Erected  by  his  commercial  friends  and  associates  as 
a  memorial  of  their  affection  and  respect  for  his 
elevated  moral  and  religious  character." 

"  He  sleeps  beneath  the  blue  lone  sea, 
He  lies  where  pearls  the  deep. 
He  was  the  loved  of  all,  yet  none 
O'er  his  low  bed  may  weep." 


'"^^^^^ 


DAVID   PATTERSON. 


MONUMENTS. 


175 


WEBSTER. 


CLEMENT   DUnaXN, 


MONUMENTS. 


177 


THAXTER. 


WILLIAMS. 


MONUMENTS. 


179 


BOND. 


FAIRFIELD.       WADSWORTH. 


MONUMENTS. 


181 


NATHANIEL     FRANCIS. 


GREENLEAF. 


MONUMENTS. 


183 


MARTIN  BRIMMER. 


In  looking  back  over  this  ramble  among  the 
monuments  of  Mount  Auburn,  we  cannot  but  see  how 
far  our  sketches  must  be,  at  the  best,  from  conveying  a 
complete  conception  of  either  the  natural  beauties,  or 
the  artificial  decorations  of  the  grounds,  to  one  who 
has  never  paid  them  a  visit.  We  are  confined  to  a 
selection  (instead  of  a  collection)  of  the  monuments, 
and  that  upon  principles,  necessary  to  the  design  of 
this  work,  but  leaving  some  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
them  for  the  visiter  to  discover  and  describe  for 
himself;  and  besides  this,  we  must  leave  all  the  details 
of  minor  ornament  equally  to  him.  Much  might  be 
said  in  honor  of  the  taste  which  many  of  these  exhibit ; 
we  refer  to  the  style  of  laying  out  lots,  the  fences, 
hedges,  flowers,  foliage,  and  other  matters  of  the  kind, 


184  MONUMENTS. 

and  still  slighter  ones,  not  to  be  described,  but  by  no 
means  to  be  disregarded.  Our  engravings,  though 
intended  to  represent  all  the  principal  classes  of 
monuments  at  least,  are  hardly  of  a  nature — it  is  not 
in  the  power  of  the  art,  indeed — to  do  what  may  be 
called  poetical  justice  to  these  things.  They  do  not 
even  convey  the  effect  of  certain  arrangements  of 
conspicuous  decorations  ;  as,  for  example,  of  the  family 
groups  of  tombs,  which,  in  several  signal  instances,  are 
reared  with  reference  to  each  other,  and  enclosed 
together.  Those  of  Waterston,  Watts,  and  Hayes,  on 
the  charming  slope  which  overlooks  Consecration 
Dell,*  are  a  specimen  of  this  sort ;  and  the  monument 
of  Francis  Stanton,  already  mentioned,  in  the  same 
vicinity,  is  supported  in  like  manner  by  those  of 
Messrs.  Blake  and  Hallet.  We  should  commend 
attention  to  the  general  taste  of  many  of  the  enclo- 
sures, but  the  one  which  shows  the  name  of 
"  Lawrence,"  wrought  into  the  gate,  merits  a  special 
mention. 

Some  of  our  readers,  who  feel  an  interest  other 
than  that  of  mere  strangers  in  these  grounds,  may 
j)erhaps  miss  in  our  descriptions,  something  which 
they  would  gladly  have  seen  noticed.  This  must 
needs  be  so.  The  humblest  stone,  the  "  meanest  dust" 
is  justly  dear,  we  know,  to  some  survivor,  but  we  could 

*  There  are  several  monuments  on  this  part  of  the 
grounds  to  which  we  should  ask  attention,  did  our  limits 
allow  of  it;  that  of  "Martha  Coffin  Derby" — belonging, 
however,  to  a  class  represented  in  the  cuts — is  among 
them. 


MONUMENTS.  185 

not  introduce  them  all.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  the  list 
might  have  been  extended,  even  by  adding  only  those 
cases  on  the  surface  of  w^hich  appears  some  claim  to 
public  or  general,  rather  than  mere  personal  interest. 
The  memorial  w^hich  stands  over  the  remains  of  the 
Hon.  Edward  D.  Bangs,  Secretary  of  the  Common- 
w^ealth  from  1824  to  1836,  is  one  of  these.  Those  of 
Dr.  "  Gerard  Dayers,"  a  Belgian,  vi^ho,  after  many  years' 
service  in  the  American  navy,  deceased  at  Roxbury, 
aged  nearly  70  years, — of  James  L.  Whittier,"  (1838) 
over  vs^hose  dust,  at  the  age  of  21,  a  marble  was  raised 
by  his  class-mates  of  Brown  University, — of  Mrs. 
"  Hannah  Atkins,"  of  Boston,  (on  Willow  Avenue)  who, 
born  in  Cambridge  in  1750,  was  buried  here  in  1838, 
at  the  age  of  more  than  88  years, — these  are  various 
illustrations  in  point 

The  monument  proposed  to  be  erected  to  T.  G. 
Fessenden,  as  we  have  stated,  has  been  set  up  (on 
Yarrow  Path)  while  these  sketches  were  passing 
through  the  press,  and  the  following  inscription  graven 
upon  it : — 

"Thomas  Green  Fessenden  died  November  11th, 
1837,  aged  65.  This  monument  is  erected  by  the 
Massachusetts  Society  for  promoting  Agriculture,  by 
the  Horticultural  Society  of  Massachusetts,  and  by 
individuals,  as  a  testimony  of  respect  for  the  literary 
talents  and  acquirements  of  the  deceased,  and  for  his 
untiring  labors  in  promoting  the  objects  of  the  above 
institutions." 

Another  monument,  on  which  the  inscription  has 
been  engraven  since  this  description  was  commenced, 
is  that  of  "  Putnam,"  on  Beech  Avenue,  a  column  of 


186 


MONUMENTS. 


snow-white  Italian  marble,  ornamented  with  Egyptian 
emblems  on  one  of  the  sides,  and  over-shadowed  by 
one  of  the  finest  oaks  in  the  Cemetery.  The  inscription 
reads  thus : — 


JESSE  PUTNAM. 

"Jesse  Putnam,  long  known  as  the  Father  of  the 
merchants  of  Boston;  a  distinction  not  claimed  by 
himself,  but  accorded  by  others,  in  consideration  of  the 
intelligence,  energy,  and  integrity,  with  which,  for 
more  than  half  a  centurj^,  at  home  and  abroad,  he 
followed  and  adorned  Ms  profession.  He  died  14th 
April,  1837,  aged  83  years." 

"  Here,  amid  scenes  familiar  to  her  childhood,  and 
grateful,  alike,  to  her  advancing  and  her  declining 
years,  repose,  with  those  of  her  husband,  the  remains 
of  Susannah,  more  than  sixty  years  wife  of  Jesse 


MONUMENTS.  187 

Putnam.  Having  discharged,  with  unwearied  fidelity 
and  devotion,  the  duties  of  this  relation,  as  well  as 
those  of  a  daughter  and  mother,  she  sunk  into  the 
sleep  of  death,  '  with  a  hope  full  of  immoitality,'  8th 
April,  1839,  aged  84  years." 

"  His  youth  was  innocent ;  his  riper  age, 

Marked  with  some  act  of  goodness  every  day  ; 
And  watched  by  eyes  that  loved  him,  calm,  and  sage, 
^      Faded  his  late  declining  years  away. 
Cheerful  he  gave  his  being  up,  and  went 
To  share  the  holy  rest  that  waits  a  life  well  spent." 

We  might  well  have  noticed,  while  in  this  vicinity, 
a  monument  possessing,  for  many  observers,  an 
interest  which  forbids  our  omitting  it.  This  is  amply 
explained  by  the  inscription : — 

"  Here  rest  the  remains  of  Rev.  Samuel  H.  Stearns. 
He  was  born  at  Bedford,  Sept.  12, 1802 ;  was  graduated 
at  Harvard  University,  1823 ;  studied  theology  at 
Andover;  was  ordained  over  the  Old  South  Church 
in  Boston,  April  16th,  1834 ;  was  dismissed,  at  his  own 
request,  on  account  of  broken  health,  March,  1836, 
having  preached  but  three  Sabbaths  after  his  ordination. 
He  died  at  Paris,  on  his  return  from  Rome  to  his  native 
country,  July  15th,  1837,  in  the  36th  year  of  his  age. 
Discriminating,  tasteful,  magnanimous,  devout,  uniting 
uncommon  eloquence  with  fervent  and  confiding  piety, 
he  strove  for  many  years  against  sickness,  to  be  useful 
in  the  church.  His  last  hours  were  characterised  by 
serenity  and  blissful  anticipation.  A  full  believer  in 
the  doctrines  of  grace,  he  died,  as  he  lived,  in  the 
faith  of  his  fathers." 


188 


MONUMENTS. 


"  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation :  but  be  of 
good  cheer  ;  I  have  overcome  the  world. — John, 
xvi,  33." 


SAMUEL  H.  STEARNS. 

The  remains  of  Mr.  Stearns  were  transiently  depos- 
ited, we  believe,  in  the  Cemetery  of  Phe  la  Chaise. 

The  name  in  this  case  reminds  us  that  it  is  under- 
stood some  memorial,  other  than  yet  exists,  will  be 
erected  over  the  remains  of  Asahel  Stearns,  of 
Cambridge,  who  died  in  February,  1839,  aged  64 
years ;  not  unknown  in  political  life,  for  he  was  a 
Member  of  Congress  during  one  session  of  that  body, 
but  more  distinguished  by  professional  ability  and 
success.  During  two  years  he  was  Professor  of  Law 
in  Harvard  University,  and  for  nineteen  years  he  was 
County  Attorney  for  Middlesex.    In  1824  he  pubUshed 


MONUMENTS.  189 

the  first  edition  of  a  work  which  gained  him  great 
legal  reputation, — that  on  "  Real  Actions."  The  writer 
of  an  obituaiy  notice  of  him,  in  the  Law  Reporter, 
giving  an  account  of  the  origin  of  this  work,  states 
that  in  the  winter  of  1824,  during  the  session  of 
the  Court  at  Cambridge,  when  the  Bar  were  accus- 
tomed, more  than  at  present,  to  spend  their  evenings 
together,  and  when  their  habits  of  social  intercourse 
did  much  to  soften  the  many  asperities  which  the 
practice  of  the  law  seems  calculated  to  call  forth  and 
strengthen,  Mr.  Stearns  was  one  evening  lamenting 
that  he  had  so  little  to  do.  It  was  then  vacation  in  the 
University ;  he  had  but  few  actions  in  court,  and  his 
time  seemed  likely  to  hang  heavily  on  his  hands,  for 
several  weeks.  "  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do,"  was  the 
answer  of  Mr.  Hoar,  who  was  a  very  intimate  friend 
of  the  deceased,  "you  shall  write  a  work  on  Real 
Actions."  The  advice  was  received  with  acclamation 
by  all  present,  and  Mr.  Stearns  immediately  commenced 
the  work :  he  had  more  than  half  completed  it 
before  the  close  of  the  vacation,  and  it  was  published 
in  less  than  six  months. 

In  addition  to  memorials  already  referred  to  as 
proposed,  may  be  mentioned  those  which  are  said  to 
be  in  preparation  for  doing  honor  to  Dr.  Bowditch  of 
Boston,  and  Dr.  Noah  Worcester,  of  Brighton,  the 
"  Friend  of  Peace,"  both  of  them  names  which  speak 
sufficiently  for  themselves.  The  accomplishments, 
virtues,  and  services  of  men  like  these  deserve  a 
conspicuous  commemoration,  not  for  their  own  sake 
only,  or  chiefly,  but  with  a  view  to  the  world's  welfare, 
"  One  good  deed  dying  tongueless  slaughters  a 
thousand  hanging  upon  that" 


END. 


IMCISCEIiXiANIXSS. 


CHURCH-YARD  SKETCHES. 


BY    THE    EDITOR. 


Few  tilings  have  interested  me  more,  in  my  rambles 
about  the  world,  and  especially  over  the  old  countries, 
than  the  visits  I  have  made  to  grave-yards.  In  this 
country,  the  traveller,  however  much  his  mind  may  be 
so  disposed,  can  depend  but  little  on  such  sources  of 
enjoyment  and  edification.  It  is  a  sad  fault  of  us 
Americans,  that,  for  the  most  part,  we  neglect  the  dead. 
We  are  inclined,  generally^  I  know,  to  disparage  external 
appearances.  We  have  a  contempt  for  ceremonies. 
We  are  a  hard,  practical  people,  intensely  absorbed  in 
business,  surrounded  by  circumstances  which  accustom 
us  to  the  livelier  kinds  of  excitement,  educated  and 
impelled  in  every  way  to  undervalue  and  lose  sight  of 
what  may  be  called  the  graces  of  civilization.  These 
peculiarities,  the  evidence  and  influence  of  which 
are  plainly  perceptible  through  every  department 
of  action  and   sphere   of  life  among  us,  are  to  be 


194  MISCELLANIES. 

accounted  for  easily  enough  ; — no  explanation  need  be 
given  of  them  here.  Nor  will  the  reader  require  to  be 
reminded  of  the  better  qualities  with  which,  in  the 
usual  order  of  things,  and  as  a  matter  almost  of  moral 
necessity,  they  are  commonly  connected.  Still,  how- 
ever, the  feeling  in  question — the  want  of  feeling,  I  am 
tempted  to  call  it — must  be  set  down  against  us  as  a 
"  fault."  Undeniable  at  least  it  is,  that  one  of  the  most 
attractive  and  prepossessing  of  all  the  minor  virtues  of 
a  community, — the  gentler  graces  I  have  spoken  of  as 
neglected  by  ourselves — is  a  thoughtful  and  tender 
care  for  the  departed.  I  will  not  enlarge  on  this 
subject,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned.  Much,  in  illustra- 
tion of  my  meaning,  and  in  confirmation  of  the  justice 
of  these  general  strictures,  might  be  said  concerning 
the  condition  in  which  the  grave-yards  of  this  country 
are  too  frequently  kept ; — of  their  repulsiveness  in  too 
many  cases,  of  their  unattractiveness  in  almost  all. 
But  the  details  would  be  sadly  disagreeable  ;  and  if,  in 
the  course  of  these  sketches  of  mine,  I  can  hope  to 
suggest  to  any  mind  any  impression  which  may  help 
ever  so  little  to  improve  the  state  of  things  I  refer  to,  I 
trust  that  what  has  already  been  said  directly  to  the 
purpose,  with  the  allusions  which  may  occur  in  the 
sequel,  will  be  sufficient  for  the  end.  I  bear  in  mind, 
too,  that  an  improvement  is  already  going  on.  We  are 
not,  in  our  mortuary  observances,  quite  so  heathenish 
as  we  have  been ; — so  Turkish,  1  was  going  to  say,  but 
that  would  be  a  libel  which  a  comparatively  amiable 
people  do  not  deserve; — so  altogether  "practical," — 
that  is  the  American  version  of  this  characteristic. 
The   feeling  in  which  the  beautiful  establishment  at 


MISCELLANIES.  195 

Mount  Auburn  originated,  and  the  spirit  which  has 
sustained  it  so  well,  are  consolatory  symptoms  of  a 
better  era  of  public  sentiment  about  to  dawn ;  and 
that  example  itself  has  done  very  much  to  bring  on 
the  more  "  perfect  day."  Let  us  hope  that  it  will  do 
still  more ;  that  its  sweet  influence  will  go  forth 
through  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  the  land; 
that  eveiy  new  establishment  which  is  raised  around 
us,  in  generous  emulation  of  this,  may  be  a  fresh 
helper,  a  resistless  pleader  like  itself,  in  this  good 
cause  of  the  heart ;  and  that  so  the  time  may  be  duly 
hastened,  when  even  the  pilgrim  who  comes  from 
other  climes  to  visit  us,  may  read,  wherever  he  wanders, 
on  the  face  of  the  soil,  the  character  and  praise  of  the 
living  generation  in  the  works  which  shall  indicate 
their  remembrance  of  those  that  have  passed  away. 

Let  us  hope  for  these  things,  I  say.  And  meanwhile 
we  may  borrow  a  leaf,  as  I  hinted  before,  from  the  Old 
World's  journal.  Who  that  has  roamed  over  those 
countries  in  anything  like  a  leisurely  way,  or  at  all  as 
a  traveller  should,  whom  aught  animates  beyond  this 
restless,  rankling,  eternal  thirst  for  helter-skelter  busi- 
ness and  filthy  lucre,  but  has  a  memoiy  richly  stored, 
for  the  rest  of  his  life-time,  even  out  of  the  grave-yards 
alone  ?  A  memory  !  aye,  and  a  heart,  too  ; — stored 
with  loveliest  images  of  thought, — with  feelings  that 
are  a  ceaseless  fountain  to  refresh  the  soul, — ^with 
pictures  of  sweet,  sequestered  scenes  reposing  in  the 
mind's  meditations,  all  beautiful  as  in  nature  itself, — 
sunny  and  still  as  the  little  lakes  of  the  hills, — haunting 
and  soothing  one's  spirit  evermore.  England,  most  of 
all,  is  full  of  these  resources.    Everywhere  the  kind  of 


196  MISCELLANIES. 

church-yards  I  refer  to  are  to  be  found ; — old,  venerable, 
moss-mantled,  hi  every  way  picturesque, — ^yet  greenly 
and  freshly  rural, — the  very  homes  of  meditation. 
There  is  a  hearty  homeliness  in  the  English  character, 
with  all  its  faults,  which  delights  in  these  outward 
observances  of  affectionate  respect  for  the  dead.  If 
the  "  old  countiymen  "  are  not  remarkable  for  a  quick 
sensibility,  there  is  nevertheless  a  permanent  and 
steady  ardor  in  their  temperament,  which  "wears 
well."  They  may  not  form  hasty  attachments.  They 
are  slow  to  cultivate  a  common  acquaintance.  Even 
the  "sociable"  spirit  which  seems  to  be  due  to  the 
indifferent  circle  one  daily  meets  with,  seems  oflen  a 
drudgeiy  to  them.  But  they  have  hearts,  nevertheless, 
and  these  are  "  in  the  right  place  ;" — none  the  less  so 
for  the  lack  of  that  superficially  social  and  almost 
physical  effervescence  of  emotion  and  expression 
which  has  obtained  for  some  nations  the  credit  of 
being  more  amiable,  while  in  fact  they  are  only  more 
sprightly,  and  perhaps  at  the  same  time  more  vain. 
Among  no  people,  at  all  events,  are  instances  of 
persevering  fidelity  in  friendship  between  the  livhig 
more  numerous ;  and  it  is  the  same  feeling,  the  same 
substantial,  homely,  hearty  character,  which,  in  equal 
proportion,  manifests  itself,  in  a  thousand  most  touch- 
ing though  simple  forms  of  association  between  the 
departed  generation  and  those  who  survive  them, 
through  all  the  humblest  hamlets  of  the  land. 

I  dwell  daily,  with  a  pleasure  which  I  cannot 
express,  on  the  remembrances  of  these  sacred  scenes. 
Not  of  the  "  dim  and  mighty  mmsters  of  old  time" 
alone  I  think,  whose 


MISCELLANIES.  197 


-''  Very  light 


Streams  with  a  coloring  of  heroic  days 
In  every  ray;" — 

nor  of 

"  Rich  fretted  roofs 
And  the  wrought  coronals  of  summer  leaves, 
Ivy  and  vine,  and  many  a  sculptured  rose 
Binding  the  slender  columns,  whose  light  shafts 
Cluster  like  stems  in  corn-sheaves  ;" — 

nor  of 

"  The  crimson  gloom  from  banners  thrown  ;" — 
nor 

"  Forms,  in  pale  proud  slumber  carved, 

Of  warriors  on  their  tombs,  where  jewelled  crowns 

On  the  flushed  brows  of  conquerors  have  been  set, 

And  the  high  anthems  of  old  victories 

Have  made  the  dust  give  echoes  !" — 

These  are  rich  indeed  vv^ith  an  interest  of  their  ovni, 
but  they  do  not  deeply  touch  the  heart.  Grave  lessons 
are  to  be  learned  from  them,  but,  as  the  poet  adds,  too 
frequently  they  are  but  memories  and  monuments  of 
power  and  pride, — of  power  and  pride 
That  long  ago. 

Like  dim  processions  of  a  dream,  have  sunk 

In  twilight  depths  away." 

These  we  behold  with  wondering  awe  ; — it  may  be 
with  a  solemn  admiration ;  yet  these  very  feelings  but 
stand  in  the  way  of  deeper  ones.  We  see  too  much, — 
too  much  of  man  and  his  observances.  Crowds  of 
associations  too  historical  engross  the  mind.  The  imag- 
ination and  the  memory  are  excited  to  the  prejudice  of 


6 


TjNr> 


198  MISCELLANIES. 

the  heart.  No !  give  me  the  grave-yards  of  the  common 
people,  and  the  poor;  the  expressions  of  a  nature 
w^hich  deems  itself  unobsei*ved ;  the  simplicity  of  a 
genuine  feeling,  obscured  w^ith  whatever  rudeness  or 
ignorance.  Give  me  the  "  lone  places  "  where  there  is 
nothing  "  to  be  seen  "  but  stones  and  sods,  and  trees, 
and  chequered  turf; — 

The  temple  twilight  of  the  gloom  profound, 

The  dew-cup  of  the  frail  anemone, 

The  reed  by  every  wandering  whisper  thrilled. 

Where  but  in  such  a  spot,  and  in  a  country  full  of  such, 
could  genius  itself  have  ever  penned  the  "  Elegy  ?" 
Who  but  an  English  poet  could  have  been  its  author  ? — 
one  who  had  revelled  frorri  childhood  in  scenes  like 
those  he  describes  in  that  immortal  poem,  and  who 
had  lain  the  dust  of  his  own  mother  "  where  heaves 
the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap."  From  what 
other  source  than  a  "riiountain  church-yard"  could 
spring  the  spirit  of  "Easter  Day," — so  sublimely 
cheerful,  so  divinely  true  ?  It  was  the  graves  that 
appealed  to  the  poetess;  to  them  she  uttered  her 
appeal : — 

"  And  you,  ye  graves  !  upon  whose  turf  I  stand, 
Girt  with  the  slumber  of  the  hamlet's  dead, 
Time,  with  a  soft  and  reconciling  hand, 
The  covering  mantle  of  bright  moss  hath  spread 

O'er  every  narrow  bed  : 
But  not  by  time,  and  not  by  nature  sown 
Was  the  celestial  seed,   whence  round  you  peace  hath 
grown. 


MISCELLANIES.  199 

"  Christ  hath  arisen  !     Oh,  not  one  cherished  head 
Hath,  'midst  the  flowery  sods,  been  pillowed  here 
Without  a  hope,  (howe'er  the  heart  hath  bled 
In  its  vain  yearnings  o'er  the  unconscious  bier,) 

A  hope,  upspringjng  clear 
From  those  majestic  tidings  of  the  morn, 
Which  lit  the  living  way  to  all  of  woman  born. 

"  Thou  hast  wept  mournfully,  O  human  Love  ! 
E'en  on  this  greensward;  night  hath  heard  thy  cry, 
Heart-stricken  one  !  thy  precious  dust  above, — 
Night,  and  the  hills,  which  sent  forth  no  reply 

Unto  thine  agony  ! 
But  He  who  wept  like  thee,  thy  Lord,  thy  guide, 
Christ  hath  arisen,  O  Love  !  thy  tears  shall  all  be  dried. 

"  Dark  must  have  been  the  gushing  of  those  tears, 
Heavy  the  unsleeping  phantom  of  the  tomb, 
On  thine  impassioned  soul,  in  elder  years, 
When,  burdened  with  the  mystery  of  its  doom, 

Mortality's  thick  gloom 
Hung  o'er  the  sunny  world,  and  with  the  breath 
Of  the  triumphant  rose  came  blending  thoughts  of  death. 

'^  By  thee,  sad  Love,  and  by  thy  sister.  Fear, 
Then  was  the  ideal  robe  of  beauty  wrought 
To  vail  that  haunting  shadow,  still  too  near, 
Still  ruling  secretly  the  conqueror's  thought; 

Andy  where  the  board  was  fraught 
With  wine  and  myrtles  in  the  summer  bower, 
Felt,  e'en  when  disavowed,  a  presence  and  a  power. 

*^  But  that  dark  night  is  closed  \  and  o'er  the  dead 
HerCy  where  the  gleamy  primrose-tufts  have  blown, 
And  where  the  mountain-heath  a  couch  has  spread, 
12 


200  MISCELLANIES. 

And,  settling  oft  on  some  gray-lettered  stone, 

The  red-breast  warbles  lone  j 
And  the  wild  bee's  deep,  drowsy  murmurs  pass 
Like  a  low  thrill  of  harp-strings  through  the  grass  ; — 

"  Here,  'midst  the  chambers  of  the  Christian's  sleep, 
We  o'er  death's  gulf  may  look  with  trusting  eye. 
For  hope  sits  dove-like  on  the  gloomy  deep, 
And  the  green  hills  wherein  these  valleys  lie 

Seem  all  one  sanctuary 
Of  holiest  thought; — nor  needs  their  fresh,  bright  sod, 
Urn,  wreath,  or  shrine,  for  tombs  all  dedicate  to  God." 

I  remember  a  spot  among  the  Cumberland  hills  that 
might  have  inspired  even  poetry  like  this.  It  w^as  the 
little  church,  (and  church-yard)  of  Borrowdale ; — the 
smallest  building  of  its  class  in  England,  it  is  stated. 
Mr.  Wordsworth,  w^ho  lives  in  the  neighborhood,  said 
it  was  "no  bigger  than  a  cottage,"  and  thus  indeed  it 
seemed,  when,  at  the  end  of  a  long  ramble,  I  found  it 
so  nestled  away  in  the  niche  of  a  hill- side,  so  buried 
and  wrapped  in  shade  and  solitude,  that  it  was  difficult 
to  realize  how  even  the  narrow  space  within  its  walls 
should  ever  be  filled  by  human  worshippers.  Another 
such  picture  the  pedestrian  may  have  to  think  of,  who, 
sauntering  along  the  hedge-lined  bye-ways  of  the 
lovely  Isle  of  Wight,  suddenly  stays  his  steps,  uncon- 
sciously, to  gaze  over  into  the  sweet,  small  garden  of 
graves  clustering  all  round  the  humble  but  exquisite 
Church  of  St.  Lawrence  ;  some  of  them,  on  the  upper 
side  of  the  mountain-slope,  nearly  as  high  as  the  moss- 
grown  roof  of  the  building,  over  which  one  sees,  from 
the  road-side,  a  glimpse  of  the  lonely  sea,  spread  out 


MISCELLANIES.  201 

at  the  base  of  the  mountain.  Nothing  can  exceed  the 
beauty  of  the  proportions  of  this  ancient  edifice, 
miniatural  as  it  is.  The  slope  of  the  hill  it  is  set  on  is 
so  steep  that  the  road  just  mentioned  is  cut  into  it  like 
a  groove.  On  the  upper  side,  a  cliff  towers  up  over 
one's  head,  almost  perpendicularly,  some  hundred  feet, 
yet  everyw^here,  from  the  moisture  of  the  climate,  and 
the  richness  of  the  soil  that  still  clings  to  the  rocks, 
mantled  with  a  soft,  silky  robe  of  the  sweetest  verdure 
the  eye  ever  saw,  brightly  spotted  with  clusters  of 
flowers,  and  small  shrubs  flourishing  out  from  the 
crevices,  and  sometimes  laden  with  vines.  Below  the 
church,  the  scene  grows  wilder.  The  hill-side  shows, 
far  up  from  the  water-mark,  traces  of  the  fierce  power 
of  the  element  which  sleeps  now  so  quietly  at  its  feet. 
Huge  sea-stained  points  of  crags  peer  out  grimly  on 
every  side  ;  the  vegetation  is  withered,  and  disappears, 
as  we  wind  farther  down  by  the  dizzy  foot-path  the 
egg-hunters  have  trodden ;  and  now  breaks  out  upon 
us,  in  its  full  volume,  that  terrible  thunder  of  the  surge 
of  even  these  slumbering  waves.  But  it  is  a  thunder 
that  comes  only  in  mellowed  music  to  him  who 
saunters,  as  I  did,  in  the  noiseless  avenues  of  the  little 
sanctuary  in  the  niche  of  the  hill-side  above.  Many  a 
time  I  stayed  my  steps  to  listen  to  this  murmur,  as 
borne  on  the  gusts  of  the  "  sweet  sea  air,  sweet  and 
strange,"  it  swelled  and  fell  at  intervals,  like  spirit- 
voices  whispering  to  those  who  lay  beneath.  No  !  not 
to  them.  Theirs  is  the  "  dull,  cold  ear "  that  will  not 
hear.  To  me,  to  all  who  visit  this  blessed  temple,  this 
sacred  ground,  to  us,  to  us  they  speak.     They  tell  us 

of  the   history  below  us,  and  of  the   destiny  before. 

2* 


202  MISCELLANIES. 

They  mind  us  well  of  the  life  we  are  living ;  ah !  better 
still  of  that  we  have  not  lived,  where  there  is  no  more 
"  moaning  of  the  seaP 

It  was  in  this  grave-yard  I  noticed  a  humble  heap 
piled  over  the  remains  of  one  whose  annals,  as  the 
modest  marble  at  its  head  recorded  them,  touched  my 
lieart.  It  was  a  young,  beautiful  girl.  She  came  to 
this  neighborhood,  I  think,  from  Wales,  probably  for 
the  restoration  of  health.  But  alas  !  nor  herb,  nor  sea- 
au",  nor  care  of  relative  or  friend,  could  save  her ;  no, 
not  the  yearning  tenderness  or  breaking  heart  of  him 
who  loved  her  best,  and  who  weeps  now  over  the 
untimely  tale  I  read.  To  him  she  had  been  long 
betrothed,  and  trusting  still  that  dear  deceiving  hope 
which  never  leaves  us,  and  which  the  poor  perishing 
consumptive  and  her  kindred  cling  to  so  fondly,  till 
life's  light  goes  quite  out, — in  this  hope  the  marriage-day 
was  appointed.  Preparations,  even,  were  made  for  it. 
On  that  day  she  died,  and  here  she  is  buried,  as  in  her 
last  murmurs  she  asked  that  she  might  be — in  her 
bridal  dress!  Peace  be  to  her  ashes — she  "sleeps 
well "  in  the  grave-yard  of  St.  Lawrence  ! 

Not  very  far,  but  very  different  from  this,  is  the  yard 
of  the  gray  old  church  of  Chale,  which  stands  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  a  tremendous  precipice,  on 
the  brink  of  the  sea,  called  Blackgang  Chine.  Deep 
under  this  awful  barrier  a  small,  snug  cove  runs  in, 
making  what  the  islanders  entitle  Chale  Bay ;  in  itself 
a  wild  and  yet  pleasing  and  generally  tranquil  spot, 
bordered  by  a  curved  beach  of  shining  sand,  and 
enlivened  by  tiny  streamlets  of  water,  trickling  from 
the  verge  of  the  huge  rocks  above.     A  man  who  hated 


MISCELLANIES.  203 

his  own  race,  but  yet  loved  nature,  would  choose  a 
nook  at  the  base  of  the  Chine  for  his  dwelling.  No 
stranger,  at  least,  would  disturb  him  ;  for  if  he  did  not 
pass  by  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  in  the  way-side,  as  he 
probably  would,  without  knowing  it,  he  would  shudder 
and  start  back  from  the  sight: — there  is  something 
threatening,  appalling,  in  the  lonely  sublimity,  and  even 
in  the  intense,  strange  solitude  of  the  place.  But 
ah !  if  he  knew,  as  I  do,  its  history !  Four  times,  if 
not  more,  since  my  brief  acquaintance  with  this 
charming  Island  began,  have  gallant  ships  gone  down, 
in  storm  and  surge,  in  this  fatal  cove. 

I  learned  the  history  of  one  of  these  hapless 
companies  from  the  marbles  of  the  church-yard  of 
Chale.  There  they  were  buried,  with  the  sad  solemni- 
ties suited  to  such  an  occasion,  and  with  all  the 
tenderness  needed  to  soothe  their  hearts  who  were 
watching  now  so  eagerly  for  the  return  of  a  long- 
expected  ship.  What  a  picture  of  human  life,  what 
a  passage  of  human  history  it  is !  "  Sermons,"  indeed, 
"in  stones!"  Six  of  the  passengers  were  of  one 
affectionate  family;  a  gallant  naval  officer,  coming 
home  from  a  long  service,  with  his  wife,  a  babe,  and 
three  elder  and  beautiful  daughters.  The  brother  of 
this  lady  had  been  expecting  them  daily.  He  was  one 
of  the  first  on  the  Island  to  be  informed  of  their  coming 
— and  of  hoiv  they  had  come ; — and  to  behold  a  spectacle 
which  I  will  not  describe.  Let  us  hasten  from  the 
church-yard  of  Chale.  The  name  is  a  knell  in  my 
memory. 

A  glance  at  the  burial-place  of  the  United  Brethren 
near  Ballymena  in  Ireland,  may  be  a  relief  to  the  reader. 


204  MISCELLANIES. 

It  is  another  of  the  spots  one  would  choose  for  his 
bones  to  he  in; — for,  say  what  we  will,  there  is  a 
cJwice,  and  the  thought  of  it  is  no  indifferent  matter  to 
us  while  alive,  however  little  the  fact  itself  may 
concern  us  or  others  in  future  time.  The  Moravians 
believe  so,  at  least.  They  appreciate  justly,  too,  the 
moral  influence,  the  religious  science,  of  a  grave-yard. 
They  do  not  deem  it  either  decent  to  leave  it  neglected, 
or  necessary  to  make  it  frightful.  The  little  village, 
which  I  visited  one  Sabbath  morning,  is  embosomed  in 
trees,  and  surrounded  with  the  famed  emerald  verdure 
of  the  country  on  every  side ; — divided  into  a  small, 
harmonious  arrangement  of  shaded  streets,  that,  but 
for  the  neat  rows  of  cottages,  and  regular  beds  of 
flowers  on  either  hand,  look  more  like  natural  lanes ; — 
"remote  from  cities,"  in  a  word; — serene,  peaceful, 
beautiful  as  a  "thought  of  Paradise."  I  attended 
service  in  the  little  church,  and  afterwards  walked 
through  the  grave-yard  which  lies  on  the  table-land  of 
a  gentle  green  swell  behind  it,  skirted  with  flourishing 
and  flowery  hedges,  and  spotted  over,  in  hollow  and 
heap,  with  checks  of  a  mellow  September  sunshine, 
sifted  through  branches  of  leaning  trees.  I  need  not 
describe  the  scene  in  detail.  The  customs  of  this 
sect  in  the  care  of  their  dead  are  known  to  all.  How 
truly  are  they  delineated  in  Montgomery's  lines  on  the 
graves  of  the  Patriarchs  : — 

"  A  scene  sequestered  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
The  loveliest  nook  of  all  that  lovely  glen, 
Where  weary  pilgrims  found  their  last  repose. 
The  little  heaps  were  ranged  in  comely  rows, 


MISCELLANIES.  205 

With  walks  between,  by  friends  and  kindred  trod, 
Who  drest  with  duteous  hands  each  hallowed  sod. 
No  sculptured  monument  was  taught  to  breathe 
His  praises  whom  the  worm  devoured  beneath. 
The  high,  the  low,  the  mighty,  and  the  fair, 
Equal  in  death,  were  undistinguished  there. 
Yet  not  a  hillock  mouldered  near  that  spot, 
By  one  dishonored,  or  by  all  forgot. 
To  some  warm  heart  the  poorest  dust  was  near, 
From  some  kind  eye  the  meanest  claimed  a  tear. 
And  oft  the  living,  by  affection  led, 
Were  wont  to  walk  in  spirit  with  their  dead, 
Where  no  dark  cypress  cast  a  doleful  gloom, 
No  blighting  yew  shed  poison  o'er  the  tomb. 
But  white  and  red,  with  intermingling  flowers, 
The  graves  looked  beautiful  in  sun  and  showers. 
Green  myrtles  fenced  them,  and  beyond  that  bound 
Ran  the  clear  rill,  with  ever-murmuring  sound. 
'T  was  not  a  scene  for  grief  to  nourish  care, — 
It  breathed  of  hope,  it  moved  the  heart  to  prayer." 

Yes,  and  it  fills  us  with  hope,  it  moves  us  to  prayer, 
even  to  think  of  such  a  spot.  What  quietness,  what 
beauty  of  visible  nature,  what  harmony  of  rural 
sounds,  what  soothing  emblems,  in  a  word,  of  precious 
and  glorious  spiritual  speculations,  and  what  stirring 
yet  soothing  monitors  to  christian  philosophy  and  to 
holy  emotion  were  mingled  with  all  the  more  customary 
and  palpable  minutiae  of  the  scene ! — Would  that  my 
dust,  too,  might  lie  at  last  in  some  such  "  grave-yard  of 
the  Patriarchs  !"  Oh !  leave  me  not  to  the  noisomeness 
of  a  burial  in  the  city ; — I  like  not  the  thought.  Let 
the  birds  shig  over  me,  if  they  will,  and  the  green 


206  MISCELLANIES. 

grass  spring  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  violet  and 
primrose  flourish  and  glow  in  its  midst.  I  would  have 
the  place  no  terror,  at  least,  to  those  in  whose  kind 
memory  I  still  might  live.  I  would  have  it  to  console 
and  cheer ;  to  rouse,  gently,  to  solemn  but  not  gloomy 
meditation.  The  poorest  village  in  the  land,  with  all 
its  rude  obscurity,  might  easily  be  rich  enough  for  this, 
— richer  than  countless  wealth  can  make  the  more 
than  deadly  dwelling-place  of  him  whose  bones  are 
shelved  away  in  London  or  in  Boston  vaults.  The 
poorest  village  may  be  far  abler  than  the  most  opulent 
metropolis  to  emulate  Mount  Auburn  in  its  way,  for 
nature,  and  the  love  of  it,  are  all  it  needs. 

All  ?  I  think  I  hear  some  reader  say.  Where,  then, 
are  your  great  names  ?  The  church-yards  of  England 
and  other  lands  are  full  of  such.  See  how  the  dust  of 
Phe  la  Chaise  teems  with  them  !  What  monuments — 
what  historical  and  classical  accumulations — what 
scholars,  conquerors,  and  bards — what  hints  and  helps 
to  patriotism,  and  perseverance  and  high  ambition! 

Aye,  and  to  other  feelings,  I  fear,  less  in  unison  with 
that  which  is,  or  should  be,  the  reigning  spirit  of  the 
place  ; — perhaps  to  some  but  too  well  adapted  to  coun- 
teract it; — to  sensations,  to  mere  excitement,  more 
than  to  feelings,  in  the  better  sense  of  the  word,  at  all. 
On  this  point  I  have  intimated  my  impressions  already, 
in  speaking  of  the  style  of  the  Cathedrals  and  other 
places  of  the  kind.  I  would  not  be  deemed  insensible 
to  the  just  worth  of  the  associations  now  in  question. 
More  dignity  there  certainly  is  in  these,  than  in  mere 
external  decorations ;  and  yet, — I  acknowledge  it 
freely. — I  would  not  have  the  dust  of  Auburn  to  groan 


MISCELLANIES.  207 

with  such  a  load  of  the  one,  scarcely  more  than  of  the 
other. 

He  who  has  visited  the  Parisian  Cemetery  whose 
eclat  imposes  on  the  imagination  much  more,  let  me 
say,  than  it  can  on  the  eyes — knows  full  well  the 
expense  at  which  the  increase  of  its  honors  and  the 
influence  of  its  antiquity  have  been  obtained.  He  who 
has  Twt  been  there,  can  easily  conceive  what  I  mean.  I 
will  not  dwell  on  such  a  theme.  The  more  it  is 
considered,  however,  the  less  disposed,  I  am  sure,  we 
shall  be, — with  all  our  awe  and  admiration  at  what  is 
so  fine  and  so  famous  in  the  "  splendid  "  Cemeteries  of 
the  Old  World — the  less  disposed  we  shall  be,  on  the 
whole,  to  envy  them  anything  of  either  the  moral  or 
the  material  grandeur  they  possess.  So  long,  at  least, 
as  we  can  multiply  Mount  Auburns  around  us,  it  surely 
must  be  so.  I  know  it  is  not  sound  philosophy  to 
anticipate  what  we  may  not  like  when  it  comes.  It  is 
most  unwise  to  burthen  ourselves  with  the  expected 
troubles  of  future  generations,  who  doubtless  will  not 
only  take  the  liberty  to  judge  of  their  own  condition 
for  themselves,  but  will  find  something — many  things 
— to  make  amends  for  whatever  evil  it  may  include. 
And  yet,  for  such  as  incline  to  be  discontented  with 
the  historical  poverty  of  Mount  Auburn, — for  such, 
still  more,  as  commit  the  error  of  confounding  this 
want  (a  comparative  want)  of  mere  classical  with  one 
of  moral  character,  in  its  wider  sense, — for  those,  most 
especially,  if  any  indeed  there  are,  who  covet  the 
paraphernalia  which  intellect,  and  industry,  and  wealth 
and  pride  have  certainly  accumulated  so  richly  round  the 
burial-places  of  even  the  truly  great  and  good,  as  well 


208  MISCELLANIES. 

as  the  illustriously  insignificant  or  obnoxious  dead  of 
other  lands, — for  these,  it  may  be  well  to  consider  how 
much  better  and  fitter  an  establishment  is  Mount 
Auburn,  for  the  purposes  its  founders  and  friends 
had  in  view  when  they  reared  it,  than  Phre  la  Chaise,  or 
anything  of  the  sort,  could  possibly  be  in  its  place. 
How  much  better  to  muse  in  for  the  living,  or  to  sleep 
in  for  the  dead,  than  some  few  ages  hence  it  may 
become,  wiien  opulence,  and  luxury,  and  fashion,  and 
all  the  whims  of  humanity,  and  all  the  workings  of 
time,  shall  have  made  it  more  like  the  great  show-place 
of  the  gay  and  vain  French  Capital.  Then  indeed 
there  will  be  over  it  a  halo  of  glory ;  but  will  its  charm 
for  the  heait  remain  the  same?  Future  generations 
may  be  prouder  of  it  than  we  are,  but  can  they  be  as 
fond  ?  Will  not  the  musing  moralist  of  those  days, 
sometimes,  weary  of  sensations  and  splendor,  turn  or 
seek  to  turn  back  in  imagination  to  this  uncrowded 
quietude  and  primitive  simplicity — this  glistering  turf, 
— these  cool,  sweet-winding  avenues  and  paths — this 
green,  fresh  beauty  of  the  woods  ?  Will  he  not  think 
how  once,  with  the  first  flush  of  the  spring's  verdure, 
and  how  again  in  the  summer's  sultry  hours,  the 
denizens  of  the  city's  populous  streets  here  at  least 
could  vn^-ap  themselves  so  soon  in  solitude  and 
bloom  ?  How  here,  even  those  to  whom  trial  and 
toil  had  made  the  world  a  weariness  for  the  time, 
might  learn,  from  the  depths  of  nature,  in  intervals  of 
solemn  but  refreshing  meditation,  to  look  forth  with 
complacency,  and  renew  themselves  as  they  looked, 
through  the  tree-tops  of  the  mountain-summit,  on  many 
a  glorious  vision  of  what  had  seemed  to  them  before 


MISCELLANIES.  209 

no  better  than  a  "foul  and  pestilential  congregation  of 
vapors  ?"  How  Iwre,  the  mourner,  left  alone  with  his 
Maker  and  His  works, — save  only  these  modest  monu- 
ments of  sacred  sorrow,  and  faith,  and  love,  so  precious 
to  the  soul, — might  find  himself  at  length  consoled  by 
the  soothing  ministrations  of  nature,  and  made,  by  all 
the  mighty  though  gentle  influences  of  reason,  of 
religion,  awakened  to  new  life  within  him,  a  wiser  and 
even  a  happier  being  than  before  ?  Yes,  such  surely 
will  be  some  of  the  reflections  and  the  regrets  of  future 
generations.  Let  it  be  ours  to  appreciate  what  we 
possess. 


THE   OLD  MAN'S  FUNERAL. 


BY    WILLIAM    C.    BRYANT. 


1  SAW  an  aged  man  upon  his  bier : 

His  hair  was  thin  and  white,  and  on  his  brow 

A  record  of  the  cares  of  many  a  year ; — 
Cares  that  were  ended  and  forgotten  now. 

And  there  was  sadness  round,  and  faces  bowed, 
And  women's  tears  fell  fast,  and  children  wailed  aloud. 

Then  rose  another  hoary  man,  and  said, 
In  faltering  accents,  to  that  weeping  train, 

it  Why  mourn  ye  that  our  aged  friend  is  dead  .'' 
Ye  are  not  sad  to  see  the  gathered  grain, 

Nor  when  their  mellow  fruit  the  orchards  cast, 
Nor  when  the  yellow  woods  shake  down  the  ripened  mast. 

"  Ye  sigh  not  when  the  sun,  his  course  fulfilled, — 
His  glorious  course,  rejoicing  earth  and  sky, — 

In  the  soft  evening,  when  the  winds  are  stilled, 
Sinks  where  the  islands  of  refreshment  lie, 

And  leaves  the  smile  of  his  departure,  spread 
O'er  the  warm-colored  heaven  and  ruddy  mountain-head. 


MISCELLANIES.  211 

*'  Why  weep  ye  then  for  him,  who,  having  run 
The  bound  of  man's  appointed  years,  at  last, 

Life's  blessings  all  enjoyed,  life's  labors  done, 
Serenely  to  his  final  rest  has  passed  ? 

While  the  soft  memory  of  his  virtues  yet 
Lingers,  like  twilight  hues,  when  the  bright  sun  is  set. 

"  His  youth  was  innocent ;  his  riper  age 

Marked  with  some  act  of  goodness  every  day  ; 

And,  watched  by  eyes  that  loved  him,  calm  and  sage 
Faded  his  late-declining  years  away. 

Cheerful  he  gave  his  being  up,  and  went 
To  share  the  holy  rest  that  waits  a  life  well  spent. 

"  That  life  was  happy  ;  every  day  he  gave 
Thanks  for  the  fair  existence  that  was  his ; 

For  a  sick  fancy  made  him  not  her  slave, 
To  mock  him  with  her  phantom  miseries. 

No  chronic  tortures  racked  his  aged  limb. 
For  luxury  and  sloth  had  nourished  none  for  him. 

"  And  I  am  glad  that  he  has  lived  thus  long  j 

And  glad  that  he  has  gone  to  his  reward ; 
Nor  deem  that  kindly  nature  did  him  wrong, 

Softly  to  disengage  the  vital  cord. 
When  his  weak  hand  grew  palsied,  and  his  eye 
Dark  with  the  mists  of  age,  it  was  his  time  to  die." 


ON  THE   DEATH  OF  A   SISTER. 


BY    CHARLES    SPRAGUE. 


I  KNEW  that  we  must  part !  day  after  day 
I  saw  the  dread  destroyer  win  his  way. 
That  hollow  cough  first  rang  the  fatal  knell, 
As  on  my  ear  its  prophet-warning  fell ; 
Feeble  and  slow  thy  once  light  footstep  grew, 
Thy  wasting  cheek  put  on  death's  pallid  hue, 
Thy  thin,  hot  hand  to  mine  more  weakly  clung, 
Each  sweet  '  Good  night,'  fell  fainter  from  thy  tongue ; 
I  knew  that  we  must  part — no  power  could  save 
Thy  quiet  goodness  from  an  early  grave  ; 
Those  eyes  so  dull,  though  kind  each  glance  they  cast, 
Looking  a  sister's  fondness  to  the  last; 
Those  lips  so  pale,  that  gently  pressed  my  cheek, 
That  voice — alas  !  thou  couldst  but  try  to  speak ; 
All  told  thy  doom,  I  felt  it  at  my  heart, 
The  shaft  had  struck — I  knew  that  we  must  part. 

And  we  have  parted,  Mary — thou  art  gone  ! 
Gone  in  thine  innocence,  meek-suffering  one. 


MISCELLANIES.  213 

Thy  weary  spirit  breathed  itself  to  sleep 
So  peacefully,  it  seemed  a  sin  to  weep, 
In  those  fond  watchers  who  around  thee  stood, 
And  felt,  even  then,  that  God  even  then  was  good. 
Like  stars  that  struggle  through  the  shades  of  night, 
Thine  eyes  one  moment  caught  a  glorious  light, 
As  if  to  thee,  in  that  dread  hour,  'twere  given 
To  know  on  earth  what  faith  believes  of  Heaven ; 
Then  like  tired  breezes  didst  thou  sink  to  rest, 
Nor  one,  one  pang  the  awful  change  confessed  } 
Death  stole  in  softness  o'er  that  lovely  face. 
And  touched  each  feature  with  a  new-born  grace  ; 
On  cheek  and  brow  unearthly  beauty  lay. 
And  told  that  life's  poor  cares  had  passed  away. 
In  my  last  hour,  be  Heaven  so  kind  to  me — 
I  ask  no  more  than  this — to  die  like  thee. 

But  we  have  parted,  Mary — thou  art  dead  ! 
On  its  last  resting-place  I  laid  thy  head. 
Then  by  the  coffin-side  knelt  down,  and  took 
A  brother's  farewell  kiss  and  farewell  look  j 
Those  marble  lips  no  kindred  kiss  returned ; 
From  those  veiled  orbs  no  glance  responsive  burned ; 
Ah  !  then  I  felt  that  thou  hadst  passed  away, 
That  the  sweet  face  I  gazed  on  was  but  clay. 
And  then  came  Memory  with  her  busy  throng 
Of  tender  images,  forgotten  long  ; 
Years  hurried  back,  and  as  they  swiftly  rolled, 
I  saw  thee — heard  thee — as  in  days  of  old  ; 
Sad  and  more  sad  each  sacred  feeling  grew, 
Manhood  was  moved,  and  sorrow  claimed  her  due ; 
Thick,  thick  and  fast,  the  burning  tear-drops  started, 
I  turned  away — and  felt  that  we  had  parted. 


214  MISCELLANIES. 

But  not  forever — in  the  silent  tomb, 
Where  thou  art  laid,  thy  kindred  shall  find  room; 
A  little  while — a  few  short  years  of  pain, 
And,  one  by  one,  we'll  come  to  thee  again. 
The  kind  old  Father  shall  seek  out  the  place, 
And  rest  with  thee,  the  youngest  of  his  race  ; 
The  dear,  dear  Mother — bent  with  age  and  grief — 
Shall  lay  her  head  by  thine,  in  sweet  relief; 
Sister  and  Brother,  and  that  faithful  Friend, 
True  from  the  first,  and  tender  to  the  end. 
All,  all,  in  His  good  time,  who  placed  us  here, 
To  live,  to  love,  to  die  and  disappear. 
Shall  come  and  make  their  quiet  bed  with  thee, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  that  spreading  tree  ; 
With  thee  to  sleep  through  death's  long  dreamless  night, 
With  thee  rise  up  and  bless  the  morning  light. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  AN  INFANT. 


BY   MRS.   HEMANS. 


No  bitter  tears  for  thee  be  shed, 
Blossom  of  being  !  seen  and  gone ; 

With  flowers  alone  we  strew  thy  bed, 
O  blessed,  departed  one  ! 

Whose  all  of  life,  a  rosy  ray. 

Blushed  into  dawn,  and  passed  away. 

Yes,  thou  art  gone,  ere  guilt  had  power 
To  stain  thy  cherub  soul  and  form  ! 

Closed  is  the  soft  ephemeral  flower 
That  never  felt  a  storm  ! 

The  sunbeam's  smile,  the  zephyr's  breath, 

All  that  it  knew  from  birth  to  death. 

Thou  wert  so  like  a  form  of  light, 

That  heaven  benignly  called  thee  hence, 

Ere  yet  the  world  could  breathe  a  blight 
O'er  thy  sweet  innocence  ; 

And  thou,  that  brighter  home  to  bless, 

Art  passed,  with  all  thy  loveliness. 


216  MISCELLANIES. 

Oh  !  hadst  thou  still  on  earth  remained, 
Vision  of  beauty  !  fair  as  brief, 

How  soon  thy  brightness  had  been  stained 
With  passion  or  with  grief; 

Now,  not  a  sullying  breath  can  rise 

To  dim  thy  glory  in  the  skies. 

We  rear  no  marble  o'er  thy  tomb. 

No  sculptured  image  there  shall  mourn  ; 

Ah  !  fitter,  far,  the  vernal  bloom 
Such  dwelling  to  adorn  ; 

Fragrance  and  flowers,  and  dews,  must  be 

The  only  emblem  meet  for  thee. 

Thy  grave  shall  be  a  blessed  shrine. 

Adorned  with  nature's  brightest  wreath  ; 

Each  glowing  season  shall  combine 
Its  incense  there  to  breathe  ; 

And  oft,  upon  the  midnight  air. 

Shall  viewless  harps  be  murmuring  there. 

And  oh  !  sometimes,  in  visions  blest, 
Sweet  spirit,  visit  our  repose. 

And  bear,  from  thine  own  world  of  rest, 
Some  balm  for  human  woes  ; 

What  form  more  lovely  could  be  given. 

Than  thine,  to  messenger  of  heaven ! 


THE  GRAVE  AND  THE  TOMB. 


BY   JOHN   FIERPONT.* 


The  tomb  is  not  so  interesting  as  the  grave.  It 
savors  of  pride  in  those  who  can  novr  be  proud  no 
longer ;  of  distinction,  where  all  are  equal ;  of  a  feeling 
of  eminence  even  under  the  hand  of  the  great  leveller 
of  all  our  dust.  And  how  useless  to  us  are  all  the 
ensigns  of  magnificence  that  can  be  piled  up  above 
our  bed !  What  though  a  sepulchral  lamp  throw  its 
light  up  to  the  princely  vaults  under  which  my  remains 
repose !  They  would  rest  as  quietly  were  there  no 
lamp  there.  The  sleeping  dust  fears  nothing.  No 
dreams  disturb  it.  It  would  not  mark  the  neglect, 
should  the  sepulchral  lamp  be  suffered  to  expire.  It 
will  not  complain  of  the  neglect,  should  it  never  be 
lighted  again. 

And  why  should  my  cold  clay  be  imprisoned  with  so 
much  care  ?  Why  thus  immured,  to  keep  it,  as  it 
would  seem,  from  mingling  with  its  kindred  clay? 
When   *that  which  warmed  it  once'  animates  it  no 

*  From  an  article  in  the  Token  for  1832. 
13 


218  MISCELLANIES. 

more,  what  is  there  in  my  dust,  that  it  should  be  thus 
jealously  guarded?  Is  it  lovely  now  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  may  have  once  loved  me  ?  Will  my  chil- 
dren, or  the  children  of  my  children,  visit  my  vaulted 
chamber  ?  They  may,  indeed,  summon  the  courage  to 
descend  into  my  still  abode,  and  gaze  by  torch-light 
upon  the  black  and  mouldering  visage,  which,  not 
their  memory,  but  my  escutcheon,  not  their  love,  but 
their  pride,  may  tell  them  is  the  face  of  their  father ; 
and  this  may  eloquently  remind  them  how  soon  the 
builder  of  the  house  of  death  must  take  up  his  abode 
in  it ;  how  soon  the  dust  that  we  have,  must  mingle 
with  the  dust  that  we  are ;  but  still  there  is  a  feeling 
of  horror  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  tomb,  which  chills 
all  that  is  affectionate  and  tender  in  the  emotions  that 
lead  them  into  it,  and  is  anything  but  favorable  to  the 
moral  uses  to  which  the  living  may  convert  the  dwell- 
ings of  the  dead ;  uses  that  will  be  secured  by  every 
daughter  of  affliction,  of  whom  it  may  be  said,  as  it 
was  said  of  the  soiTowing  Mary,  *  She  goeth  unto  the 
grave  to  weep  there.'  Yes ;  though  all  whom  I  have 
loved  or  venerated  sleep  within  its  walls,  I  retreat  from 
the  tomb,  the  moment  that  I  can  do  it  without  impiety, 
or  even  with  decency.  But  I  am  differently  affected 
when,  with  the  rising  sun,  or  by  the  light  of  the 
melancholy  moon,  I  go  alone  to  my  mother's  grave. 
There  I  love  to  linger  ;  and,  while  there,  I  hear  the 
wind  sigh  over  one  who  often  sighed  for  me.  I 
breathe  an  air  refreshed  by  the  grass  that  draws  its 
strength  from  the  bosom  from  which  I  drew  mine ; 
and,  in  the  drops  of  dew  that  tremble  upon  it,  I  see 
the   tears    that  so   often   bedewed    her  eyes    as  she 


MISCELLANIES.  219 

breathed  forth  a  prayer  that  her  children  might  cherish 
her  memory,  and  escape  from  the  pollutions  of  the 
world. 

Yes;  to  the  lover  of  nature,  in  itis  simplicity,  the 
grave  is  more  interesting  and  more  instructive  than  the 
tomb.  It  speaks  in  a  voice  as  full  of  truth,  and  more 
full  of  tenderness,  to  those  who  visit  it  to  indulge  their 
griefs,  or  to  hold  spiritual  converse  with  the  sainted 
spirits  that  are  gone.  And  if  the  spirit  that,  while  on 
earth,  was  loved  by  us,  does  not,  when  it  leaves  the 
earth,  lose  a]l  interest  in  its  crumbling  tenement, 
would  it  not  rather  see  the  child  of  earth  clasped  again 
to  the  sweet  bosom  of  its  mother,  to  be  again  incorpo- 
rated with  her  substance,  to  assume  again  a  form 
attractive  and  lovely,  to  become  again  the  recipient  of 
light,  an  object  of  admiration,  and  a  conscious  medium 
of  enjoyment,  than  that  it  should  lie  and  moulder  away 
in  darkness  and  silence — a  cause  of  offence  to  stran- 
gers, and  a  source  of  terror  to  those  whom  it  still  loves  ? 
Rather  than  see  our  own  clay  thus  dwelling  in  coldness 
and  solitude,  neither  receiving  enjoyment  nor  imparting 
it,  would  not  our  spirits,  purged  from  all  vanity  and 
pride,  be  pleased  to  know  that  it  was  starting  forth 
again  into  life  and  loveliness ;  that  it  was  moving  again 
in  the  fair  light  of  heaven,  and  bathed  in  its  showers  ; 
that  it  was  giving  forth  the  perfume  of  the  rose,  or 
blushing  with  its  great  beauty ;  or,  that,  having  clothed 
the  oak  with  its  robe  of  summer,  it  was  throwing  a 
broad  shade  over  the  home  of  our  children ;  or  that, 
having  once  more  felt  the  frost  of  death,  it  was  falling 
withered  upon  their  graves. 

The   grave,  when  visited  thoughtfully   and   alone, 

2# 


220  MISCELLANIES. 

cannot  but  exert  a  favorable  moral  influence.  It  has 
already  been  remarked  that  it  speaks  in  a  voice  full  of 
tenderness  and  of  truth.  Its  instructions  reach  not  the 
ear,  indeed,  but  they  do  reach  the  heart.  By  it,  the 
departed  friend  is  recalled  in  all  but  a  visible  presence, 
and  by  it,  *  he,  being  dead,  yet  speaketh.'  At  such  a 
time,  how^  faithfully  v^ill  the  grave  of  your  friend 
remind  you  of  the  pleasant  moments  vrhen  you  were 
conversing  w^ith  him  in  the  living  tones  of  affection 
and  truth !  vt^hen  you  w^ere  opening  your  hearts  to  each 
other,  and  becoming  partakers,  each  of  the  other's 
hopes  and  purposes  and  cares ;  v^^hen  vrith  a  generous 
confidence  those  secret  things  were  shown  to  one 
another,  which  were  locked  up  in  the  heart  from  all 
the  world  beside !  Will  the  grave  of  your  friend  allow 
you  to  forget  his  single-heartedness  in  serving  you; 
his  unsullied  honor ;  his  plighted  faith ;  his  readiness 
to  expose  himself  to  danger  that  he  might  save  j^ou 
from  it ;  and  the  calmness  with  which,  when  he 
perceived  that  his  hold  on  life  was  breaking  away,  he 
gave  up  life's  hopes,  and,  turning  his  eyes  for  the  last 
time  to  the  light,  and  looking  up,  for  the  last  time,  to 
the  faces  of  those  who  loved  him,  he  bade  farewell  to 
all,  and  gave  up  his  spirit  to  the  disposal  of  his  God  ? 
Is  all  this  forgotten,  when  you  stand  by  his  grave  .^ 
Does  not  his  very  grave  speak  to  you  ?  Does  it  not 
bear  its  testimony  to  the  value  of  youthful  purity  and 
truth,  and  of  the  power  of  an  humble  confidence  in 
the  Most  High,  to  give  dignity  to  the  character  of  the 
young,  and  to  disarm  Death  of  the  most  dreadful  of  his 
weapons,  even  when  he  comes  for  his  most  dreadful 
work — to  cut  off  life  in  the  beauty  of  its  morning? 


MISCELLANIES.  221 

Does  there  not  come  up  from  his  grave  a  voice,  like 
that  which  comes  down  from  the  skies — a  voice  not 
meant  for  the  ear,  but  addressed  to  the  heart,  and  felt 
by  the  heart  as  the  kindest  and  most  serious  tones  of 
the  living  friend  were  never  felt  ? 

And  the  children  of  sorrow — they  whose  hands 
have  prepared  a  resting  place  for  their  parents  in  the 
*  Garden  of  Graves,'  shall  go  to  that  garden  and  find 
that  their  hearts  are  made  better  by  offering  there  the 
sacrifice  of  filial  piety,  or  by  listening  there  to  the 
rebuke  which  a  guilty  ear  will  hear  coming  forth  from 
the  dust  The  leaf  that  rustles  on  his  father's  grave 
shall  tell  the  un dutiful  son  of  disquiet  sleep  beneath  it. 
The  gray  hairs  of  his  father  went  down  to  the  grave, 
not  in  sorrow  alone,  but  in  shame.  The  follies  of  his 
son  made  them  thus  go  down.  Son  of  disobedience, 
that  tall  grass,  sighing  over  thy  father's  dust,  whispers 
a  rebuke  to  thee.  It  speaks  of  thy  waywardness  when 
a  child ;  of  thy  want  of  filial  reverence  in  maturer 
years  ;  of  thy  contempt  for  a  parent's  counsels  ;  and  of 
thy  disregard  of  his  feelings,  his  infirmities,  and  his 
prayers.  It  will  be  well  for  thee  if  the  grave,  by  its 
rebuke,  shall  so  chasten  thee  for  thine  iniquity,  that 
thine  own  soul,  when  called  away,  may  meet  thy  father 
and  thy  God  in  peace. 

How  different  is  the  language  of  thy  father's  grave 
to  thee,  my  brother.  Does  it  not  recall  the  many  hours 
to  thy  remembrance,  which  were  given  to  his  service  ? 
Were  not  his  thin  locks  decently  composed,  in  death, 
by  thine  own  hand  ?  Did  not  his  dim  eye  turn  to  thee 
in  *the  inevitable  hour'  as  to  the  pleasant  light  of  the 
sun  ?     Did  he  not,  with  his  last  grasp,  take  hold  of  thy 


202  MISCELLANIES. 

hand,  and  did  not  his  pressure  of  thy  hand  tell  thee, 
when  his  tongue  could  not,  that  it  was  that  which  had 
upheld  and  comforted  him  in  his  decaying  strength ; 
and  was  it  not  his  last  prayer  that  thou  mightest  be 
blest  in  thine  own  children  as  he  had  been  blest  in 
his  ?  He  has  gone  to  his  rest  and  his  reward.  But  his 
sepulchre  is  green,  and  at  thy  coming,  though  it  gives 
him  not  to  thy  embrace,  it  restores  him  to  thy  grateful 
remembrance.  His  counsels  are  again  addressed  to 
thine  ear.  His  upright  life  is  still  before  thine  eye. 
His  devotion  to  thine  own  highest  interests  sinks  down, 
with  new  weight,  into  the  depths  of  thy  heart.  Thou 
catchest  again  the  religious  tones  of  his  morning  and 
evening  prayer.  They  speak  of  peace  to  the  venerated 
dead.  They  are  full  of  hope  and  consolation  to  the 
living.  They  tell  how  *  blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in 
the  Lord,'  how  sweetly  *  they  rest  from  their  labors,' 
and  how  happy  it  is  for  them  that  *  their  works  do 
follow  them.' 

And  thou,  my  sister,  why  dost  thou  go  forth  alone  to 
visit  thy  mother's  grave  ?  Will  she  recognise  thy  foot- 
fall at  the  door  of  her  narrow  house  ?  Will  she  give 
thee  a  mother's  welcome,  and  a  mother's  blessing? 
Her  blessing  shall  indeed  meet  thee  there,  though  not 
her  welcome ;  for  there  shall  gather  round  thee  the 
sacred  remembrances  of  her  care  and  her  love  for  thee ; 
the  remembrance  of  her  gentle  admonitions,  her 
patience  and  faithfulness  ;  of  her  spirit  of  forbearance 
and  meekness  under  provocation,  and  of  that  ever 
wakeful  principle  of  industry,  neatness  and  order, 
which  always  made  her  home  so  pleasant  to  those 
whom  she  loved  ;  and  there  shall  visit  thee,  like  one  of 


MISCELLANIES.  ^*^*«=^^-  223 

the  spirits  of  the  blest,  the  thought  of  her  own  blessed 
spirit,  as  it  rose  in  fervent  prayers  for  the  welfare  and 
salvation  of  those  who  were  given  to  her  charge.  She 
will  speak  to  thee  there,  again,  as  she  often  spoke  in 
life,  of  the  hour  that  is  coming,  when  thou,  who  didst 
once  sleep  upon  her  bosom,  shalt  sleep  by  her  side, 
being  gathered  to  the  great  congregation  of  the  dead. 
She  will  speak  to  thee,  from  her  grave,  of  the  worth  of 
innocence,  of  the  importance  of  chastening  the  extrav- 
agance of  thy  young  hopes,  and  of  looking  thoughtfully 
and  seriously  upon  the  world  as  a  scene  of  trying 
duties  and  severe  temptations,  of  the  countless  evils 
that  join  hand  in  hand  and  follow  on  in  the  train  of  a 
single  folly,  and  of  the  momentous  bearing  of  thy 
present  course  upon  thy  peace  in  this  life,  and  upon 
thy  condition  when  thy  dust  shall  be  mingling  with 
hers.     Then, 

^  Let  Vanity  adorn  the  marble  tomb 

With  trophies,  rhymes,  and  scutcheons  of  renown, 
In  the  deep  dungeon  of  some  gothic  dome, 

Where  night  and  desolation  ever  frown. 
Mine  be  the  breezy  hill  that  skirts  the  down, 

Where  a  green  grassy  turf  is  all  I  crave, 
With  here  and  there  a  violet  bestrown. 

Fast  by  a  brook,  or  fountain's  murmuring  wave  ; 
And  many  an  evening  sun  shine  sweetly  on  my  grave.* 


THE  SHEFFIELD  CEMETERY. 


BY   MRS.    HOFFLAND. 


Methinks  the  wide  earth,  in  its  fairest  lands, 
Hath  not  one  spot  more  meet  for  man's  repose, 
Than  this  most  lovely  scene.     Amid  these  shades, 
In  contemplative  hope,  we  still  may  meet 
The  dear,  the  lov'd,  the  honor'd — may  imbibe 
The  solace  our  bereaved  hearts  require, 
When  life's  most  tender  ties  in  twain  are  torn, 
And  chill  despair  is  seated  on  love's  throne. 

In  pure  religion's,  or  in  reason's  eye, 
It  nought  avails,  whether  the  friend  we  lose 
Moulders,  amid  a  thousand  festering  forms, 
In  the  foul  pit  of  pestilence,  or  rests 
In  marble  sepulchre  ; — we  know  God's  voice 
Will,  from  old  Ocean's  central  caves,  and  Earth's 

*  In  offering  to  the  reader  this,  we  believe  the  latest, 
poetical  production  of  an  accomplished  lady  whose  pen 
has  added  so  much  to  the  world's  happiness,  it  is  proper 
to  remark  that  she  is  a  native  of  the  town  named  in  the 
title. 


MISCELLANIES.  225 

O'erwhelming  tumuli,  alike,  call  forth 

That  great  unnumbered  family  to  whom 

He  gave  the  "  living  soul  "  which  never  dies. 

But  yet  these  human  feelings  yearn  to  give 

The  quiet  solitude,  the  lonely  bower, 

The  peaceful  tomb,  as  our  last  duteous  boon, 

Where  the  dead  sleep,  the  living  weep  unseen. 

Nor  does  the  christian's  faith  such  cares  forbid, 

For  she  who  came,  with  alabaster  box, 

T'  anoint  her  Saviour's  feet,  was  praised — albeit 

She  did  it  as  a  funeral  rite  ;  and  he 

Who  placed  his  Lord  in  the  new  sepulchre 

"  Where  man  had  never  laid,"  and  wrapt  his  corpse 

In  costly  ligaments,  unto  this  hour 

Is  blessed  for  the  deed.     The  Patriarch  thus 

Purchased  a  tomb  for  his  beloved  wife, 

And  thither  were  his  pious  offspring  borne 

From  distant  lands,  to  blend  with  kindred  dust. 

Such  cares  belong  unto  the  better  part 
Of  our  frail  nature,  and  warm  thanks  are  due 
To  those  who  form  such  garden,  and  such  grave, 
For  pure  affection's  solace,  which  beholds 
In  each  green  leaf  that  springs,  each  bud  that  bursts 
Its  fragile  cerements,  foretaste  of  that  hour, 
Foretold  to  faith  in  God's  eternal  word. 
When  "these  dry  bones  shall  live."     Then  the  last 

trump 
Shall  wake  the  imprisoned  ones,and  each  green  mound, 
Or  monumental  stone,  with  being  rife, 
Heave  from  their  bosoms  a  redundant  throng 
Of  beings  bright  with  glory — yet  distinct — 
"As  one  star  from  another  differeth  "  though  all 
Are  rich  in  pure  effulgence— for  their  robes 


226  MISCELLANIES. 

(Whate'er  their  names  amongst  their  fellow-men) 
Were  wash'd  thus  white  in  their  Redeemer's  blood. 

It  were  not  well  these  hallowed  shades  should  lack 
Observance  due  of  art's  accustomed  works, 
And  virtue's  claims  to  live  for  ages  hence 
In  blest  remembrance  'neath  the  public  eye. 
If,  in  the  Pagan  world,  the  sculptured  fane 
Told  when  a  worthy  citizen  was  gone, 
A  hero  fall'n,  a  loving  wife  remov'd, 
A  beauteous  daughter  in  her  virgin  bloom 
Torn  from  the  weeping  parent,  and  the  tomb 
Was  dight  with  mimic  flowers  and  mourning  nymphs, 
And  fond  inscriptions  eager  to  implore 
The  sympathetic  sigh — why  should  not  we 
Thus  grace  the  tomb  ? — thus  sue  for  pity's  tear  ? 
Since  it  is  sweet  to  all ;  yet  even  then. 
Exult  that  *'  life  and  immortality," 
Given  by  the  Gospel,  sheds  upon  our  graves 
Hopes  known  not  to  their  wisest.     "  Being  dead 
Yet  speak  they,"  and  how  deep  the  lesson  thrills 
When  sinks  the  sun,  and  twilight  shadows  fall 
From  their  umbrageous  woods  on  the  white  tomb. 
Where  with  his  loved  ones  the  pale  mourner  looks, — 
Ere  long  himself  to  lie. 

Farewell,  dear  scene.     *'  Pleasant  tho'  mournful,'* 
thou 
Hast  touched  my  heart  as  by  a  master-spell, 
Making  it  sweet  to  weep,  and  sweet  to  know, 
That  in  a  land  so  fair  I  first  drew  breath. 
And  gazed  on  thy  bright  landscape,  gaining  thence 
Deep  sense  of  all  things  beautiful  and  good. 


SONG  OF  MAY. 


BY    WILLIS    GAYLORD    CLARK. 


The  Spring's  scented  buds  all  around  me  are  smiling — 

There  are  songs  in  the  stream — there  is  health  in  the  gale; 
A  sense  of  delight  in  each  bosom  is  dwelling, 

As  float  the  pure  day-beams  o'er  mountain  and  vale ; 
The  desolate  reign  of  old  winter  is  broken — 

The  verdure  is  fresh  upon  every  tree  ; 
Of  Nature's  revival  the  charm,  and  a  token 

Of  love,  O  thou  Spirit  of  Beauty,  to  thee  ! 

The  sun  looketh  forth  from  the  halls  of  the  morning, 

And  flushes  the  clouds  that  begirt  his  career ; 
He  welcomes  the  gladness,  and  glory,  returning 

To  rest  on  the  promise  and  hope  of  the  year. 
He  fills  with  rich  light  all  the  balm-breathing  flowers ; 

He  mounts  to  the  zenith,  and  laughs  on  the  wave ; 
He  wakes  into  music  the  green  forest  bowers, 

And  gilds  the  gay  plains  which  the  broad  rivers  lave. 

The  young  bird  is  out  on  his  delicate  pinion — 
He  timidly  sails  in  the  infinite  sky  ; 


228  MISCELLANIES. 

A  greeting  to  May,  and  her  fairy  dominion, 
He  pours  on  the  west  wind's  fragrant  sigh  : 

Around,  above,  there  are  peace  and  pleasure — 

The  woodlands  are  singing — the  heaven  is  bright ; 

The  fields  are  unfolding  their  emerald  treasure, 
And  man's  genial  spirit  is  soaring  in  light. 

Alas  for  my  weary  and  care-haunted  bosom  ! — 

The  spells  of  the  spring-time  arouse  it  no  more  ; 
The  song  in  the  wild  wood — the  sheen  in  the  blossom— 

The  fresh  swelling  fountain — their  magic  is  o'er ! 
When  I  list  to  the  streams,  when  I  look  on  the  flowers, 

They  tell  of  the  Past  with  so  mournful  a  tone, 
That  I  call  up  the  throngs  of  my  long-banished  hours, 

And  sigh  that  their  transports  are  over  and  gone. 

From  the  wide-spreading  earth,  from  the  limitless  heaven, 

There  have  vanished  an  eloquent  glory  and  gleam  ; 
To  my  veil'd  mind  no  more  is  the  influence  given, 

Which  coloreth  life  with  the  hues  of  a  dream  : 
The  bloom-purpled  landscape  its  loveliness  keepeth — 

I  deem  that  a  light  as  of  old  gilds  the  wave ; — 
But  the  eye  of  my  spirit  in  heaviness  sleepeth, 

Or  sees  but  my  youth,  and  the  visions  it  gave. 

Yet  it  is  not  that  age  on  my  years  hath  descended — 

'Tis  not  that  its  snow-wreaths  encircle  my  brow; 
But  the  newness  and  sweetness  of  being  are  ended — 

I  feel  not  their  love-kindling  witchery  now  3 
The  shadows  of  death  o'er  my  path  have  been  sweeping — 

There  are  those  who  have  loved  me,  debarred  from  the 
day  ; 
The  green  turf  is  bright  where  in  peace  they  are  sleeping, 

And  on  wings  of  remembrance  my  soul  is  away. 


MISCELLANIES.  229 

It  is  shut  to  the  glow  of  this  present  existence — 

It  hears,  from  the  Past,  a  funeral  strain  ; 
And  it  eagerly  turns  to  the  high-seeming  distance, 

Where  the  last  blooms  of  earth  will  be  garnered  again ; 
Where    no    mildew   the    soft,    damask-rose    cheek    shall 
nourish — 

Where  grief  bears  no  longer  the  poisonous  sting  j 
Where  pitiless  Death  no  dark  sceptre  can  flourish, 

Or  stain  with  his  blight  the  luxuriant  spring. 

It  is  thus  that  the  hopes,  which  to  others  are  given, 

Fall  cold  on  my  heart  in  this  rich  month  of  May  j 
I  hear  the  clear  anthems  that  ring  through  the  heaven — 

I  drink  the  bland  airs  that  enliven  the  day ; 
And  if  gentle  nature,  her  festival  keeping. 

Delights  not  my  bosom,  ah  !  do  not  condemn  : — 
O'er  the  lost  and  the  lovely  my  spirit  is  weeping. 

For  my  heart's  fondest  raptures  are  buried  with  them. 


THE   LILY'S  QUEST. 


BY    NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 


Two  lovers,  once  upon  a  time,  had  planned  a  little 
summer-house,  in  the  form  of  an  antique  temple,  which 
it  was  their  purpose  to  consecrate  to  all  manner  of 
refined  and  innocent  enjoyments.  There  they  would 
hold  pleasant  intercourse  with  one  another,  and  the 
circle  of  their  familiar  friends ;  there  they  would  give 
festivals  of  delicious  fruit ;  there  they  would  hear 
lightsome  music,  intermingled  with  the  strains  of 
pathos  which  make  joy  more  sweet ;  there  they  would 
read  poetry  and  fiction,  and  permit  their  own  minds  to 
flit  away  in  day-dreams  and  romance  ;  there,  in  short — 
for  why  should  we  shape  out  the  vague  sunshine  of 
their  hopes  ? — there  all  pure  delights  were  to  cluster 
like  roses  among  the  pillars  of  the  edifice,  and  blossom 
ever  new  and  spontaneously.  So,  one  breezy  and 
cloudless  afternoon,  Adam  Forrester  and  Lilias  Fay  set 
out  upon  a  ramble  over  the  wide  estate  which  they 
were  to  possess  together,  seeking  a  proper  site  for  their 
Temple  of  Happiness.     They  were  themselves  a  fair 


MISCELLANIES.  231 

and  happy  spectacle,  fit  priest  and  priestess  for  such  a 
shrine  ;  although,  making  poetry  of  the  pretty  name  of 
Lilias,  Adam  Forrester  was  wont  to  call  her  Lily, 
because  her  form  was  as  fragile,  and  her  cheek  almost 
as  pale. 

As  they  passed,  hand  in  hand,  down  the  avenue  of 
drooping  elms,  that  led  from  the  portal  of  Lilias  Fay's 
paternal  mansion,  they  seemed  to  glance  like  winged 
creatures  through  the  strips  of  sunshine,  and  to  scatter 
brightness  where  the  deep  shadows  fell.  But,  setting 
forth  at  the  same  time  with  this  youthful  pair,  there 
was  a  dismal  figure,  wrapped  in  a  black  velvet  cloak, 
that  might  have  been  made  of  a  coffin  pall,  and  with  a 
sombre  hat,  such  as  mourners  wear,  dropping  its  broad 
Tbrim  over  his  heavy  brows.  Glancing  behind  them, 
the  lovers  well  knew  who  it  was  that  followed,  but 
wished  from  their  hearts  that  he  had  been  elsewhere, 
as  being  a  companion  so  strangely  unsuited  to  their 
joyous  errand.  It  was  a  near  relative  of  Lilias  Fay,  an 
old  man  by  the  name  of  Walter  Gascoigne,  who  had 
long  labored  under  the  burthen  of  a  melancholy 
spirit,  which  was  sometimes  maddened  into  absolute 
insanity,  and  always  had  a  tinge  of  it.  What  a  contrast 
between  the  young  pilgrims  of  bliss,  and  their  unbidden 
associate!  They  looked  as  if  moulded  of  Heaven's 
sunshine,  and  he  of  earth's  gloomiest  shade ;  they 
flitted  along  like  Hope  and  Joy,  roaming  hand  and  hand 
through  life  ;  while  his  darksome  figure  stalked  behind, 
a  type  of  all  the  woful  influences  which  life  could 
fling  upon  them.  But  the  three  had  not  gone  far,  when 
they  reached  a  spot  that  pleased  the  gentle  Lily,  and 
she  paused. 


232  MISCELLANIES. 

"  What  sweeter  place  shall  we  find  than  this  ?"  said 
she.  "  Why  should  we  seek  farther  for  the  site  of  our 
Temple  ?" 

It  was  indeed  a  delightful  spot  of  earth,  though 
undistinguished  by  any  very  prominent  beauties,  being 
merely  a  nook  in  the  shelter  of  a  hill,  with  the  prospect 
of  a  distant  lake  in  one  direction,  and  of  a  church-spire 
in  another.  There  were  vistas  and  pathways,  leading 
onward  and  onward  into  the  green  wood-lands,  and 
vanishing  away  in  the  glimmering  shade.  The  Temple, 
if  erected  here,  would  look  towards  the  west ;  so  that 
the  lovers  could  shape  all  sorts  of  fantastical  dreams 
out  of  the  purple,  violet  and  gold  of  the  sunset  sky ; 
and  few  of  their  anticipated  pleasures  were  dearer 
than  this  sport  of  fantasy. 

"Yes,"  said  Adam  Forrester,  "we  might  seek  all 
day,  and  find  no  lovelier  spot.  We  will  build  our 
Temple  here." 

But  their  sad  old  companion,  who  had  taken  his 
stand  on  the  very  site  which  they  proposed  to  cover 
with  a  marble  floor,  shook  his  head  and  frowned ;  and 
the  young  man  and  the  Lily  deemed  it  almost  enough 
to  blight  the  spot,  and  desecrate  it  for  their  airy 
Temple,  that  his  dismal  figure  had  thrown  its  shadow 
there.  He  pointed  to  some  scattered  stones,  the 
remnants  of  a  former  structure,  and  to  flowers,  such  as 
young  girls  delight  to  nurse  in  their  gardens,  but  which 
had  now  relapsed  into  the  wild  simplicity  of  nature. 

"Not  here!"  cried  old  Walter  Gascoigne.  "Here, 
long  ago,  other  mortals  built  their  Temple  of  Happi- 
ness.    Seek  another  site  for  yours !" 


MISCELLANIES.  233 

"What!"  exclaimed  Lilias  Fay,  "have  any  ever 
planned  such  a  Temple,  save  om*selves  ?" 

"Poor  child!"  said  her  gloomy  kinsman,  "in  one 
shape  or  other,  every  mortal  has  dreamed  your 
dream." 

Then  he  told  the  lovers,  how — not,  indeed,  an 
antique  Temple — but  a  dwelling  had  once  stood  there, 
and  that  a  dark-clad  guest  had  dwelt  among  its 
inmates,  sitting  forever  at  the  fire-side,  and  poisoning 
all  their  household  mirth.  Under  this  type,  Adam 
Forrester  and  Lilias  saw  that  the  old  man  spoke  of 
sorrow.  He  told  of  nothing  that  might  not  be  recorded 
in  the  history  of  almost  every  household ;  and  yet  his 
hearers  felt  as  if  no  sunshine  ought  to  fall  upon  a  spot 
where  human  grief  had  left  so  deep  a  stain ;  or,  at 
least,  that  no  joyous  Temple  should  be  built  there. 

"  This  is  very  sad,"  said  the  Lily,  sighing. 

"  Well,  there  are  lovelier  spots  than  this,"  said  Adam 
Forrester,  soothingly — "spots  which  sorrow  has  not 
blighted." 

So  they  hastened  away,  and  the  melancholy  Gas- 
coigne  followed  them,  looking  as  if  he  had  gathered 
up  all  the  gloom  of  the  deserted  spot,  and  was  bearing 
it  as  a  burthen  of  inestimable  treasure.  But  still  they 
rambled  on,  and  soon  found  themselves  in  a  rocky 
dell,  through  the  midst  of  which  ran  a  streamlet,  with 
ripple,  and  foam,  and  a  continual  voice  of  inarticulate 
joy.  It  was  a  wild  retreat,  walled  on  either  side  with 
gray  precipices,  which  would  have  frowned  somewhat 
too  sternly,  had  not  a  profusion  of  green  shrubbery 
rooted  itself  into  their  crevices,  and  wreathed  gladsome 
foliage  around  their  solemn  brows.     But  the  chief  joy 


234  MISCELLANIES. 

of  the  dell  was  like  the  presence  of  a  blissful  child, 
with  nothing  earthly  to  do,  save  to  babble  merrily  and 
disport  itself,  and  make  every  living  soul  its  playfellow, 
and  throw  the  sunny  gleams  of  its  spirit  upon  all. 

"Here,  here  is  the  spot!"  cried  the  two  lovers  with 
one  voice,  as  they  reached  a  level  space  on  the  brink 
of  a  small  cascade.  "  This  glen  was  made  on  purpose 
for  our  Temple !" 

"  And  the  glad  song  of  the  brook  will  be  always  in 
our  ears,"  said  Lilias  Fay. 

"  And  its  long  melody  shall  sing  the  bliss  of  our  life- 
time," said  Adam  Forrester. 

"  Ye  must  build  no  temple  here !"  murmured  their 
dismal  companion. 

And  there  again  was  the  old  lunatic,  standing  first 
on  the  spot  where  they  meant  to  rear  their  lightsome 
dome,  and  looking  like  the  embodied  symbol  of  some 
great  woe,  that,  in  forgotten  days,  had  happened  there. 
And,  alas!  there  had  been  woe,  nor  that  alone.  A 
young  man,  more  than  a  hundred  years  before,  had 
lured  hither  a  girl  that  loved  him,  and  on  this  spot  had 
murdered  her,  and  washed  his  bloody  hands  in  the 
stream  which  sang  so  merrily.  And  ever  since,  the 
victim's  death  shrieks  were  often  heard  to  echo 
beneath  the  cliffs. 

"  And  see  !"  cried  old  Gascoigne,  "  is  the  stream  yet 
pure  from  the  stain  of  the  murderer's  hands  ?" 

"  Methinks  it  has  a  tinge  of  blood,"  faintly  answered 
the  Lily,  and  being  as  light  as  gossamer,  she  trembled 
and  clung  to  her  lover's  arm,  whispering,  "  let  us  flee 
from  this  dreadful  vale !" 


i 


MISCELLANIES.  ^35 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Adam  Forrester,  as  cheerily  as 
he  could  ;  "  we  shall  soon  find  a  hapj)ier  spot." 

They  set  forth  again,  young  pilgrims  on  that  quest 
which  millions — which  every  child  on  earth — has  tried 
in  turn.  And  were  the  Lily  and  her  lover  to  be  more 
fortunate  than  all  those  millions  ?  For  a  long  time,  it 
seemed  not  so.  The  dismal  shape  of  the  old  lunatic 
still  glided  behind  them  ;  and  for  every  spot  that  looked 
lovely  in  their  eyes,  he  had  some  legend  of  human 
wrong  or  suffering,  so  miserably  sad,  that  his  auditors 
could  never  afterwards  connect  the  idea  of  joy  with  the 
place  where  it  happened.  Here,  a  heart-broken  woman, 
kneeling  to  her  child,  had  been  spurned  from  his  feet ; 
here,  a  desolate  old  creature  had  prayed  to  the  Evil 
One,  and  had  received  a  fiendish  malignity  of  soul,  in 
answer  to  her  prayer ;  here,  a  new-born  infant,  sweet 
blossom  of  life,  had  been  found  dead,  with  the  impress 
of  its  mother's  fingers  round  its  throat ;  and  here, 
under  a  shattered  oak,  two  lovers  had  been  stricken  by 
lightning,  and  fell  blackened  corpses  in  each  other's 
arms.  The  dreary  Gascoigne  had  a  gift  to  know 
whatever  evil  and  lamentable  thing  had  stained  the 
bosom  of  mother  earth ;  and  when  his  funereal  voice 
had  told  the  tale,  it  appeared  like  a  prophecy  of  future 
woe,  as  well  as  a  tradition  of  the  past.  And  now,  by 
their  sad  demeanor,  you  would  have  fancied  that  the 
pilgrim  lovers  were  seeking,  not  a  temple  of  earthly 
joy,  but  a  tomb  for  themselves  and  their  posterity. 

"  Where  in  the  world,"  exclaimed  Adam  Forrester, 
despondingly,  "  shall  we  build  our  Temple  of  Happi- 
ness I" 

"  Where  in  this  world,  indeed !"  repeated  Lilias  Fay ; 


236  MISCELLANIES. 

and  being  faint  and  weary,  the  more  so  by  the  heavi- 
ness of  her  heart,  the  Lily  drooped  her  head  and  sat 
down  on  the  summit  of  a  knoll,  repeating,  "  where  in 
this  world  shall  we  build  our  Temple  !" 

"  Ah !  have  you  already  asked  yourselves  that 
question  ?"  said  their  companion,  his  shaded  features 
growing  even  gloomier  with  the  smile  that  dwelt  on 
them  ;  "  yet  there  is  a  place,  even  in  this  world,  where 
you  may  build  it." 

While  the  old  man  spoke,  Adam  Forrester  and  Lilias 
had  carelessly  thrown  their  eyes  around,  and  perceived 
that  the  spot,  where  they  had  chanced  to  pause, 
possessed  a  quiet  charm,  which  was  well  enough 
adapted  to  their  present  mood  of  mind.  It  was  a 
small  rise  of  ground,  with  a  certain  regularity  of  shape, 
that  had  perhaps  been  bestowed  by  ait,  and  a  group  of 
trees,  which  almost  surrounded  it,  threw  their  pensive 
shadows  across  and  far  beyond,  although  some 
softened  glory  of  the  sunshine  found  its  way  there. 
The  ancestral  mansion,  wherein  the  lovers  would 
dwell  together,  appeared  on  one  side,  and  the  ivied 
church,  where  they  were  to  worship,  on  another. 
Happening  to  cast  their  eyes  on  the  ground,  they 
smiled,  yet  with  a  sense  of  wonder,  to  see  that  a  pale 
lily  was  growing  at  their  feet. 

"  We  will  build  our  Temple  here,"  said  they,  simul- 
taneously, and  with  an  indescribable  conviction  that 
they  had  at  last  found  the  very  spot. 

Yet,  while  they  uttered  this  exclamation,  the  young 
man  and  the  Lily  turned  an  apprehensive  glance  at 
their  dreary  associate,  deeming  it  hardly  possible  that 
some  tale  of  earthly  affliction  should  not  make  these 


MISCELLANIES.  237 

precincts  loathsome,  as  in  every  former  case.  The  old 
man  stood  just  behind  them,  so  as  to  form  the  chief 
figure  in  the  group,  with  his  sable  cloak  muffling  the 
lower  part  of  his  visage,  and  his  sombre  hat  overshad- 
owing his  brows.  But  he  gave  no  word  of  dissent 
from  their  purpose ;  and  an  inscrutable  smile  was 
accepted  by  the  lovers  as  a  token  that  here  had  been 
no  foot-print  of  guilt  or  sorrow,  to  desecrate  this  site 
of  their  Temple  of  Happiness. 

In  a  little  time  longer,  while  summer  was  still  in  its 
prime,  the  fairy  structure  of  the  Temple  arose  on  the 
summit  of  the  knoll,  amid  the  solemn  shadows  of  the 
trees,  yet  often  gladdened  with  bright  sunshine.  It 
was  built  of  white  marble,  with  slender  and  graceful 
pillars,  supporting  a  vaulted  dome  ;  and  beneath  the 
centre  of  this  dome,  upon  a  pedestal,  was  a  slab  of 
dark-veined  marble,  on  which  books  and  music  might 
be  strewn.  But  there  was  a  fantasy  among  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood,  that  the  edifice  was  planned 
after  an  ancient  mausoleum,  and  was  intended  for  a 
tomb,  and  that  the  central  slab  of  dark-veined  marble 
was  to  be  inscribed  with  the  names  of  buried  ones. 
They  doubted,  too,  whether  the  form  of  Lilias  Fay 
could  appertain  to  a  creature  of  this  earth,  being  so 
very  delicate,  and  growing  every  day  more  fragile,  so 
that  she  looked  as  if  the  summer  breeze  should  snatch 
her  up  and  waft  her  heavenward.  But  still,  she 
watched  the  daily  growth  of  the  Temple ;  and  so  did 
old  Walter  Gascoigne,  who  now  made  that  spot  his 
continual  haunt,  leaning  whole  hours  together  on  his 
staff,  and  giving  as  deep  attention  to  the  work  as 
though  it  had  been  indeed  a  tomb.  In  due  time  it  was 
2* 


238  MISCELLANIES. 

finished,  and  a  day  appointed  for  the  simple  rite  of 
dedication. 

On  the  preceding  evening,  after  Adam  Forrester  had 
taken  leave  of  his  mistress,  he  looked  back  towards 
the  portal  of  her  dwelling,  and  felt  a  strange  thrill  of 
fear;  for  he  imagined  that,  as  the  setting  sunbeams 
faded  from  her  figure,  she  was  exhaling  away,  and  that 
something  of  her  ethereal  svd^stance  was  withdrawn, 
with  each  lessening  gleam  of  light.  With  his  farewell 
glance,  a  shadow  had  fallen  over  the  portal,  and  Lilias 
was  invisible.  His  foreboding  spirit  deemed  it  an  omen 
at  the  time,  and  so  it  proved  ;  for  the  sweetest  form,  by 
Avhich  the  Lily  had  been  manifested  to  the  world,  was 
found  lifeless,  the  next  morning,  in  the  Temple,  with 
her  head  resting  on  her  arms,  which  were  folded  upon 
the  slab  of  dark-veined  marble.  The  chill  winds  of 
the  earth  had  long  since  breathed  a  blight  into  this 
beautiful  flower,  so  that  a  loving  hand  had  now 
transplanted  it,  to  blossom  brightly  in  the  garden  of 
Paradise. 

But  alas,  for  the  Temple  of  Happiness !  In  his 
unutterable  grief,  Adam  Forrester  had  no  purpose  more 
at  heart,  than  to  convert  this  Temple  of  many  delightful 
hopes  into  a  tomb,  and  bury  his  dead  mistress  there. 
And  lo !  a  wonder !  Digging  a  grave  beneath  the 
Temple's  marble  floor,  the  sexton  found  no  virgin 
earth,  such  as  was  meet  to  receive  the  maiden's  dust, 
but  an  ancient  sepulchre,  in  which  were  treasured  up 
the  bones  of  generations  that  had  died  long  ago. 
Among  those  forgotten  ancestors  was  Lily  to  be  laid. 
And  when  the  funeral  procession  brought  Lilias  thither 
ill    her    coflSn,    they  beheld    old  Walter    Gascoigne 


MISCELLANIES.  239 

Standing  beneath  the  dome  of  the  Temple,  with  his 
cloak  of  pall,  and  face  of  darkest  gloom  ;  and  wherever 
that  figure  might  take  its  stand,  the  spot  would  seem  a 
sepulchre.  He  watched  the  mourners  as  they  lowered 
the  coffin  down. 

"And  so,"  said  he  to  Adam  Forrester,  with  the 
strange  smile  in  which  his  insanity  was  wont  to  gleam 
forth,  "  you  have  found  no  better  foundation  for  your 
happiness  than  on  a  grave !" 

But  as  the  Shadow  of  Affliction  spoke,  a  vision  of 
Hope  and  Joy  had  its  birth  in  Adam's  mind,  even  from 
the  old  man's  taunting  words  ;  for  then  he  knew  what 
was  betokened  by  the  parable  in  which  the  Lily  and 
himself  had  acted  ;  and  the  mystery  of  Life  and  Death 
was  opened  to  him. 

"Joy!  joy!"  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms  towards 
Heaven,  "  on  a  grave  be  the  site  of  our  Temple  ;  and 
now  our  happiness  is  for  eternity !" 

Whh  these  words,  a  ray  of  sunshine  broke  through 
the  dismal  sky  and  glimmered  down  into  the  sepulchre, 
while,  at  the  same  moment,  the  shape  of  old  Walter 
Gascoigne  stalked  drearily  away,  because  his  gloom, 
symbolic  of  all  earthly  sorrow,  might  no  longer  abide 
there,  now  that  the  darkest  riddle  of  humanity  was 
read. 

3* 


THE   TWO  GRAVES.* 


BY   I,   MCLELLAN,   JUJf. 


Here,  in  the  ray  of  morn  and  eve, 

Gleams  the  white  stone,  that  bears  his  name ; 
While  far  away,  beneath  the  sea, 

Is  sepulchred  his  frame. 
But  here,  with  solemn  step,  may  come 

Affection,  with  her  streaming  eye. 
The  father,  with  his  manly  grief, 

The  mother,  with  her  mournful  sigh, 
The  brother,  with  his  brow  of  care. 
The  sister,  with  her  secret  prayer. 

Dear  Youth  !  when  seeking,  in  a  foreign  land, 

New  vigor  for  thy  wasted  form, 
How  fondly  didst  thou  pant  once  more 

To  join  the  anxious  group  at  home ; 
Or  hope,  at  least,  to  bid  farewell 

To  life  beside  a  father's  hearth, — 

*  See  preceding  sketches  of  the  monuments  of  Buck- 
ingham and  McLellan. 


MISCELLANIES.  241 

That  kindred  hands  might  close  thine  eye, 

And  kindred  hands  place  thee  in  earth. 
But  no ; — strange  faces  watched  thy  dying  pain, 
And  strangers  laid  thy  body  in  the  main  ! 

Another  grave  !  another  name 

Graved  on  the  lonely  church-yard  stone, 
Another  youthful  heart  at  rest, 

Another  youthful  spirit  flown  ! 
And  oft  parental  love  shall  seek 

To  pour  its  aching  sorrow  here, 
And  oft  fraternal  fondness  bring 

Its  anguish  and  its  tear. 

And  thou,  too,  in  a  foreign  land 

Didst  follow  after  sacred  lore, 
Still  panting  for  the  joys  of  home. 

When  all  thy  wanderings  were  o'er. 
But  soon,  alas  !  ere  many  days 

Had  joined  thee  to  that  long-wished  home, 
That  blooming  head  and  youthful  frame 

Were  slumbering  in  the  tomb  ! 

Dear  Youth  !  as  by  thine  early  grave 

I  hear  the  long  grass,  dirge-like,  sigh. 
Bright  thoughts  of  other  years  arise 

Till  sorrow  fills  mine  eye. 
I  think  of  youth,  and  joy,  and  bloom. 

Of  childhood's  sports,  and  boyhood's  glee, 
When  life  seemed  all  a  golden  dream. 

And  each  young  heart  beat  free. 
The  happy  sun  that  smiled  at  morn. 

The  bird  that  called  us  forth  to  play, 
Awaked  us  then  to  no  sad  thought, 

Awaked  us  to  no  toiling  day  ; 


242  MISCELLANIEh. 

Together,  when  the  school-bell  called, 
Our  willing  youthful  feet  obeyed, 

And  when  the  eve  grew  dim,  our  heads 
Were  on  the  self-same  pillow  laid 

Ah  !  never  more  that  happy  voice 

Will  cheer  me  on  life's  thorny  way, 
And  never  more  that  buoyant  frame 

Will  rise  with  me  at  peep  of  day ; 
But  low  within  the  silent  vault, 

Beneath  the  dull  and  senseless  clod, 
It  rests  until  that  trump  shall  sound, 

The  awaking  trump  of  God  ! 


A  THOUGHT  OF  MOUNT   AUBURN. 


BY   MISS    M.   A.   BROWNE.* 


Fair  land,  whose  loveliness  hath  filled 

My  soul's  imaginings, 
At  whose  high  names  my  heart  hath  thrilled, 

Through  all  its  finest  strings  ! 
There  was  a  sunny  light  around 

My  idlest  thought  of  thee  ; 
I  dreamed  that  thou  a  hallowed  ground, 

A  fairy  land,  must  be ; 

.  *  Of  Liverpool.     Received  by  the  Editor  in  reply  to  a 
letter  communicating  the  design  of  this  volume. 


MISCELLANIES.  243 

I  thought  upon  thy  boundless  woods, 

Thy  prairies  broad  and  lone, — 
I  thought  upon  thy  rushing  floods, 

Thy  cataracts'  thunder-tone, — 
On  valleys,  'midst  whose  summer  pride 

Man's  foot  hath  never  been, 
On  cities  rising,  white  and  wide, 

Amidst  the  forest  green  ; 
I  sent  my  heart  to  many  a  nook 

Beyond  the  western  waves  ; 
Strange,  that  its  dreams  should  overlook 

The  places  of  thy  graves  ! 

I  thought  upon  the  Indian  race. 

Those  phantoms  of  the  past, 
Following,  unchecked,  the  patient  chase. 

Through  forests,  drear  and  vast; 
I  thought  of  all  thy  mighty  ones, 

The  giants  of  their  time. 
Whose  names  their  country  proudly  owns 

Eternal,  and  sublime. 
But  of  the  myriads  in  their  shrouds 

Beside  thy  cities  spread, — 
I  thought  not  of  those  nameless  crowds. 

Thy  tribes  of  lowlier  dead  ! 

A  shadow  comes  upon  my  dream. 

Land  of  fair  trees  and  flowers  ! 
O'er  thee  hath  swept  death's  mighty  stream, 

As  o'er  this  isle  of  ours ; 
Like  hers,  thy  children  have  been  wrung 

With  partings,  day  by  day  ; 
Vain  tears  have  poured,  vain  prayers  have  sprung. 

Beside  the  senseless  clay. 


244  MISCELLANIES.  - 

I  knew  thou  hadst  no  charmed  shore, 

I  knew  thy  people  die, 
Yet  never  felt  I  so  before 

The  cold  reality ; 
For  now  hath  mournful  fancy  sped, 

And  many  a  lesson  brings, 
Since  o'er  one  city  of  thy  dead 

She  droops  awhile  her  wings  ! 

And,  let  her  roam  from  pole  to  pole, 

'Neath  stormy  skies  or  clear, 
Still  doth  she  whisper  to  my  soul, 

"  The  dead,  the  dead  are  here  !" 
Yea,  all  the  differences  of  life 

Are  merged  in  one  close  tie  ; 
Here  endeth  feud,  here  ceaseth  strife. 

For  all  who  live  must  die. 
There  is  no  bond  of  grief  or  mirth. 

No  link  of  land  or  faith, 
Like  that  strong  chain  that  binds  all  Earth 

The  brotherhood  of  Death  ! 


THE    DEPARTED. 

BY   PARK   BENJAMIN. 

Tbe  departed  !  the  departed  ! 

They  visit  us  in  dreams, 
And  they  glide  above  our  memories, 

Like  shadows  over  streams  j 


MISCELLANIES.  245 

But  where  the  cheerful  lights  of  home 

In  constant  lustre  burn, 
The  departed — the  departed 

Can  never  more  return  ! 

The  good,  the  brave,  the  beautiful ! 

How  dreamless  is  their  sleep, 
Where  rolls  the  dirge-like  music 

Of  the  ever-tossing  deep, — 
Or  where  the  hurrying  night-winds 

Pale  Winter's  robes  have  spread 
Above  the  narrow  palaces, 

In  the  cities  of  the  dead  ! 

I  look  around  and  feel  the  awe 

Of  one  who  walks  alone. 
Among  the  wrecks  of  former  days, 

In  mournful  ruin  strown. 
I  start  to  hear  the  stirring  sounds 

Among  the  cypress  trees; 
For  the  voice  of  the  departed 

Is  borne  upon  the  breeze. 

That  solemn  voice  !  it  mingles  with 

Each  free  and  careless  strain ; 
I  scarce  can  think  Earth's  minstrelsy 

Will  cheer  my  heart  again. 
The  melody  of  Summer  waves, 

The  thrilling  notes  of  birds, 
Can  never  be  so  dear  to  me, 

As  their  remembered  words. 

I  sometimes  dream  their  pleasant  smiles 

Still  on  me  sweetly  fall  ! 
Their  tones  of  love  I  faintly  hear 

My  name  in  sadness  call. 


246  MISCELLANIES. 

I  know  that  they  are  happy, 
With  their  angel  plumage  on  ; 

But  my  heart  is  very  desolate, 
To  think  that  they  are  gone. 

The  departed  ! — the  departed  ! 

They  visit  us  in  dreams, 
And  they  glide  above  our  memories, 

Like  shadows  over  streams  ; 
But  where  the  cheerful  lights  of  home 

In  constant  lustre  burn, 
The  departed — the  departed 

Can  never  more  return  ! 


A  MOTHER'S  MONUMENT. 


BY   J.    R.    CHANDLER. 


"The  flowers  that  spring  up  on  the  sunny  side  of 
hillocks,  beneath  remnants  of  snow-banks,  are  very  small 
and  entirely  scentless,  and  the  little  beauty  which  is 
imputed  to  them,  is  chiefly  from  contrast  with  the  desola- 
tion and  coldness  in  which  they  are  found." 

The  death  of  a  friend  who  never  spared  a  fault  of 
my  character,  nor  found  a  virtue  which  he  did  not 
praise,  had  cast  a  gloom  over  my  mind,  which  no 
previous  deprivation  had  produced.    I  remember  how 


^^  MISCELLANIES.  247 

sceptical  and  heart-smitten — (not  heart-broken — the 
broken  heart  always  believes) — I  stood  at  his  grave, 
while  the  clergyman  touched  too  little  on  his  virtues, 
and  p>roclaimed,with  a  humble  confidence,  that  he  would 
spring  from  the  tomb  to  an  immortality  of  happiness ; 
and  suggested  the  promises  of  Scripture,  and  argued 
with  logical  precision,  from  texts  and  analogies,  that 
my  friend  should  rise  from  the  dead.  Despondency  is 
not  more  the  child  than  the  parent  of  unbelief, — deep 
grief  makes  us  selfish,  and  the  naturally  timid  and 
nervous  lose  that  confidence  in  promises,  including 
their  own  particular  wish,  which  they  yield  to  them 
when  the  benefit  of  others  is  alone  proposed.  A  little 
learning  is  dangerous  in  such  matters ;  I  suffered  a 
mental  argument  upon  the  probability  of  an  event 
which  I  so  much  desired,  to  displace  the  simple  faith 
which  would  have  produced  comparative  happiness. 
Those  who  have  contended  with,  and  at  length  yielded 
to  this  despondency,  alone  know  its  painful  operation. 

Occupied  with  thoughts  resulting  from  such  an 
unpleasant  train  of  mind,  I  followed  into  a  burying 
ground,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  a  small  train  of 
persons,  not  more  than  a  dozen,  who  had  come  to  bury 
one  of  their  acquaintance.  The  clergyman  in  attend- 
ance was  leading  a  little  boy  by  the  hand,  who  seemed 
to  be  the  only  relative  of  the  deceased  in  the  slender 
group.  I  gathered  with  them  round  the  grave,  and 
when  the  plain  coffin  was  lowered  down,  the  child 
burst  forth  in  uncontrollable  grief  The  little  fellow 
had  no  one  left  to  whom  he  could  look  for  affection,  or 
who  could  address  him  in  tones  of  parental  kindness. 


248  MISCELLANIES. 

The  last  of  his  kinsfolk  was  in  the  grave,  and  he  was 
alone. 

When  the  clamorous  grief  of  the  child  had  a  little 
subsided,  the  clergyman  addressed  us  with  the 
customary  exhortation  to  accept  the  monition,  and  be 
prepared;  and,  turning  to  the  child,  he  added:  "She 
is  not  to  remain  in  this  grave  forever ;  as  true  as  the 
grass  which  is  now  chilled  with  the  frost  of  the  season, 
shall  spring  to  greenness  and  life  in  a  few  months,  so 
true  shall  your  mother  come  up  from  that  grave  to 
another  life,  to  a  life  of  happiness,  I  hope."  The 
attendants  shovelled  in  the  earth  upon  the  coffin,  and 
some  one  took  little  William,  the  child,  by  the  hand, 
and  led  him  forth  from  the  lowly  tenement  of  his 
mother. 

Late  in  the  ensuing  spring,  I  was  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  same  burying-ground,  and  seeing  the  gate  open, 
I  walked  among  the  graves  for  some  time,  reading  the 
names  of  the  dead,  and  wondering  what  strange 
disease  could  snatch  off  so  many  younger  than  myself 
— when,  recollecting  that  I  was  near  the  grave  of  the 
poor  v/idow,  buried  the  previous  autumn,  I  turned  to 
see  what  had  been  done  to  preserve  the  memory  of  one 
so  utterly  destitute  of  earthly  friends.  To  my  surprise, 
I  found  the  most  desirable  of  all  mementos  for  a 
mother's  sepulchre  : — little  William  was  sitting  near  the 
head  of  the  now  sunken  grave,  looking  intently  upon 
some  green  shoots  that  had  come  forth,  with  the  warmth 
of  spring,  from  the  soil  that  covered  his  mother's  coffin. 

William  started  at  my  approach,  and  would  have  left 
the  place ;  it  was  long  before  I  covdd  induce  him  to 
tariT  ;  and,  indeed,  I  did  not  win  his  confidence,  until  I 


MISCELLANIES.  249 

told  him  that  I  was  present  when  they  buried  his 
mother,  and  had  marked  his  tears  at  the  time. 

"  Then  you  heard  the  minister  say,  that  my  mother 
would  come  up  out  of  this  grave,"  said  little  William. 

«Idid," 

"  It  is  true,  is  it  not  ?"  asked  he,  in  a  tone  of  confi- 
dence. 

"I  most  firmly  believe  it,"  said  I. 

"Believe  it,"  said  the  child — "believe  it — I  thought 
you  knew  it — I  know  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  it,  my  dear  ?" 

"  The  minister  said,  that  as  true  as  the  grass  would 
grow  up,  and  the  flowers  bloom  in  spring,  so  true 
would  my  mother  rise.  I  came  a  few  days  afterward, 
and  planted  flower-seed  on  the  grave.  The  grass 
came  green  in  this  burying-ground  long  ago;  and  I 
watched  every  day  for  the  flowers,  and  to-day  they 
have  come  up  too — see  them  breaking  through  the 
ground  ! — by  and  by  mammy  will  come  again." 

A  smile  of  exulting  hope  played  on  the  features  of 
the  boy;  and  I  felt  pained  at  disturbing  the  faith  and 
confidence  with  which  he  was  animated. 

"But,  my  little  child,"  said  I,  "it  is  not  here  that 
your  poor  mother  will  rise." 

"  Yes,  here,"  said  he,  with  emphasis — "  here  they 
placed  her,  and  here  I  have  come  ever  since  the  first 
blade  of  grass  was  green  this  year." 

I  looked  around,  and  saw  that  the  tiny  feet  of  the 
child  had  trod  out  the  herbage  at  the  grave-side,  so 
constant  had  been  his  attendance.  What  a  faithful 
watch-keeper! — What  mother  would  desire  a  richer 


250  MISCELLANIES. 

monument  than  the  form  of  her  only  son,  bending 
tearful,  but  hoping,  over  her  grave  ? 

"  But,  William,"  said  I,  "  it  is  in  another  w^orld  that 
she  will  arise," — and  I  attempted  to  explain  to  him  the 
nature  of  that  promise  which  he  had  mistaken.  The 
child  was  confused,  and  he  appeared  neither  pleased 
nor  satisfied. 

"  If  mammy  is  not  coming  back  to  me — if  she  is  not 
to  come  up  here,  what  shall  I  do? — I  cannot  stay 
without  her." 

"  You  shall  go  to  her,"  said  I,  adopting  the  language 
of  the  Scripture — "  you  shall  go  to  her,  but  she  shall 
not  come  again  to  you." 

"  Let  me  go,  then,"  said  William,  "  let  me  go  now, 
that  I  may  rise  with  mammy." 

"  William,"  said  I,  pointing  down  to  the  plants  just 
breaking  through  the  ground,  "  the  seed  which  is  sown 
there,  would  not  have  come  up,  if  it  had  not  been  ripe ; 
so  you  must  wait  till  your  appointed  time,  until  your 
end  Cometh." 

«T/ienIshallseeher?" 

"  1  surely  hope  so." 

"  I  will  wait,  then,"  said  the  child,  "  but  I  thought  1 
should  see  her  soon — I  thought  I  should  meet  her  hereP 

And  he  did.  In  a  month,  William  ceased  to  wait ; 
and  they  opened  his  mother's  grave,  and  placed  his 
little  coffin  on  hers — it  was  the  only  wish  the  child 
expressed  in  dying.  Better  teachers  than  I  had 
instructed  him  in  the  way  to  meet  his  mother ;  and 
young  as  the  little  sufferer  was,  he  had  learned  that  all 
labors  and  hopes  of  happiness,  short  of  Heaven,  were 
profitless  and  vain. 


I  SEC   THEE  STILL. 


BY   CHARLES    SPRAGUE. 


I  see  thee  still ! 
Remembrance,  faithful  to  her  trust, 
Calls  thee  in  beauty  from  the  dust ; 
Thou  comest  in  the  morning  light — 
Thou'rt  with  me  through  the  gloomy  night } 
In  dreams  I  meet  thee  as  of  old  ; 
Then  thy  soft  arms  my  neck  enfold, 
And  thy  sweet  voice  is  in  my  ear ; 
In  every  scene  to  memory  dear 

1  see  thee  still ! 

I  see  thee  still, 
In  every  hallowed  token  round  ; 
This  little  ring  thy  finger  bound —  ''" 

This  lock  of  hair  thy  forehead  shaded, 
This  silken  chain  by  thee  was  braided ; 
These  flowers,  all  withered  now  like  thee, 
Sweet  Sister,  thou  didst  cull  for  me  ; 
This  book  was  thine — here  didst  thou  read — 
This  picture,  ah  !  yes,  here  indeed 

I  see  thee  still  I 


252  MISCELLANIES. 

I  see  thee  still ; 
Here  was  thy  summer  noon's  retreat, 
This  was  thy  favorite  fire-side  seat : 
This  was  thy  chamber,  where,  each  day, 
I  sat  and  watched  thy  sad  decay  ; 
Here  on  this  bed  thou  last  didst  lie, 
Here,  on  this  pillow,  thou  didst  die  ! 
Dark  hour  !  once  more  its  woes  unfold — 
As  then  I  saw  thee  pale  and  cold, 

I  see  thee  still ! 

1  see  thee  still : 
Thou  art  not  in  the  tomb  confined. 
Death  cannot  claim  the  immortal  mind. 
Let  earth  close  o'er  its  sacred  trust, 
Yet  goodness  dies  not  in  the  dust. 
Thee,  O  my  Sister,  'tis  not  thee, 
Beneath  the  coffin's  lid  1  see  ; 
Thou  to  a  fairer  land  art  gone — 
There  let  me  hope,  my  journey  done, 

To  see  thee  still ! 


> 
O 


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